STILL  JIM 


BY 


HONORE  WILLSIE 

AUTHOR   OF  ' '  THE   HEART  OF   THE   DESERT 


WITH  A  FRONTISPIECE  IN  COLORS  BY  W.  HERBERT 

DUNTON  AND  WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  BLACK 

AND    WHITE    BY    J.    SCOTT    WILLIAMS 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1914,  1915,  by 
THE  RIDGWAY  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation 
into  foreign  languages 


April,  1915 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I.  THE  QUARRY 

II.  THE  OLD  SWIMMING  HOLE  .        . 

III.  THE  BROWNSTONE  FRONT      .        . 

IV.  JIM  FINDS  SARA  AND  PEN  .        • 
V.  THE  SIGN  AND  SEAL     .        .        . 

VI.  THE  MARATHON  • 

VII.  THE  CUB   ENGINEER     .         .-      -v 

VIII.  THE  BROKEN  SEAL       .        .        . 

IX.  THE  MAKON  ROAD        .        .        . 

X.  THE  STRENGTH  OF  THE  PACK 

XL  OLD  JEZEBEL  ON  THE  RAMPAGE 

XII.  THE  TENT  HOUSE 

XIII.  THE  END  OF  IRON  SKULL'S  ROAD 

XIV.  THE  ELEPHANT'S  BACK        „•  .      . 
XV.  THE  HEART  OF  A  DESERT  WIFE     . 

XVI.  THE  ELEPHANT'S  LOVE  STORY 

XVII.  Too  LATE  FOR  LOVE     . 

XVIII.  JIM  MAKES  A  SPEECH  .        .        • 

XIX.  THE  MASK  BALL 

XX.  THE  DAY'S  WORK         . 

XXI.  JIM  GETS  A  BLOW         .         .         . 

XXII.  JIM  PLANS  A  LAST  FIGHT    . 

XXIII.  THE  SILENT  CAMPAIGN 

XXIV.  UNCLE  DENNY  GETS  BUSY    . 
XXV.  SARA  GOES  ON  A  JOURNEY    . 

XXVI.  THE  END  OF  A  SILENT  CAMPAIGN 

XXVII.  THE  THUMB  PRINT 


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M532969 


STILL    JIM 


STILL  JIM 


CHAPTER   I 

THE   QUARRY 

"An  Elephant  of  Rock,  I  have  lain  here  in  the  desert 
for  countless  ages,  watching,  waiting.  I  wonder  for 
what!" 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

LITTLE  JIM  sat  at  the  quarry  edge  and  dangled 
his  legs  over  the  derrick  pit.  The  derrick  was 
out  of  commission  because  once  more  the  lift  cable 
had  parted.  Big  Jim  Manning,  Little  Jim's  father, 
was  down  in  the  pit  with  Tomasso,  his  Italian  helper, 
disentangling  the  cables,  working  silently,  efficiently, 
as  was  his  custom. 

Little  Jim  bit  his  fingers  and  watched  and  scowled 
in  a  worried  way.  He  and  his  mother  hated  to  have 
Big  Jim  work  in  the  quarry.  It  seemed  to  them  that 
Big  Jim  was  too  good  for  such  work.  Little  Jim 
wanted  to  leave  school  and  be  a  water  boy  and  his 
father's  helper.  Big  Jim  never  seemed  to  hear  the 
boy's  request  and  Little  Jim  kept  on  at  school. 

The  noon  whistle  blew  just  as  the  cable  was  once 
more  in  running  order.  Little  Jim  slid  down  into  the 


2  STILL   JIM 

pit  with  his  father's  dinner  bucket  and  sat  by  while 
his  father  ate. 

Big  Jim  Manning  was  big  only  in  height.  He  was 
six  feet  tall,  but  lean.  He  was  sallow  and  given  to 
long  silences  that  he  broke  with  a  slow,  sarcastic  drawl 
that  Little  Jim  had  inherited.  Big  Jim  was  forty-five 
years  old.  Little  Jim  was  fourteen;  tall  and  lean, 
like  his  father,  his  face  a  composite  of  father  and 
mother.  His  eyes  were  large  and  a  clear  gray.  Even 
at  fourteen  he  had  the  half  sweet,  half  gay,  wholly 
wistful  smile  that  people  watched  for,  when  he  grew 
up.  His  hair  was  a  warm  leaf  brown,  peculiarly  soft 
and  thick.  Little  Jim's  forehead  was  the  forehead  of 
a  dreamer.  His  mouth  and  chin  were  dogged,  per 
sistent,  energetic. 

When  he  was  not  in  school,  Jim  never  missed  the 
noon  hour  at  the  quarry.  He  had  his  .father's  love  for 
mechanics.  He  had  his  father's  love  for  law  and  or 
der  making,  the  gift  to  both  of  their  unmixed  Anglo- 
Saxon  ancestry.  When  Big  Jim  did  talk  at  the  noon 
hour,  it  was  usually  to  try  to  educate  his  Italian  and 
Polish  fellow  workmen  to  his  New  England  view 
point.  Little  Jim  never  missed  a  word.  He  adored 
his  father.  He  was  profoundly  influenced  by  the 
dimly  felt,  not  understood  tragedy  of  his  father's  life 
and  of  the  old  New  England  town  in  which  he  lived. 

Big  Jim  spread  a  white  napkin  over  his  knee  and 
poured  a  cup  of  steaming  soup  from  the  thermos  bot 
tle.  Tomasso  broke  off  a  chunk  of  bread  and  took  an 
onion  from  one  pocket  and  a  piece  of  cheese  from 
another.  Big  Jim  and  'Masso,  as  he  was  called,  work 
ing  shoulder  to  shoulder,  day  by  day,  had  developed  a 


THE    QUARRY  3 

sort  of  liking  for  each  other  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
Big  Jim  held  foreigners  in  utter  contempt. 

"Why  did  you  come  to  America,  anyhow,  'Masso?" 
drawled  Big  Jim,  waiting  for  his  soup  to  cool. 

'Masso  gnawed  his  onion  and  bread  thoughtfully. 
"Maka  da  mon'  quick,  here;  go  backa  da  old  countra 
rich/' 

"What  else  ?"  urged  Big  Jim. 

'Masso  looked  blank.  "I  mean,"  said  Big  Jim,  "did 
you  like  our  laws  better'n  yours?  Did  you  like  our 
ways  better?" 

'Masso  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Don'  care  'bout 
countra  if  maka  da  mon'.  Why  you  come  desa 
countra?" 

Big  Jim's  drawl  seemed  to  bite  like  the  slow  gouge 
of  a  stone  chisel. 

"I  was  born  here,  you  Wop!  This  very  dirt  made 
the  food  that  made  me,  understand?  I'm  a  part  of 
this  country,  same  as  the  trees  are.  My  forefathers 
left  comfort  and  friends  behind  them  and  came  to  this 
country  when  it  was  full  of  Indians  to  be  free.  Free ! 
Can  you  get  that?  And  what  good  did  it  do  them? 
They  larded  the  soil  with  their  good  sweat  to  make 
a  place  for  fellows  like  you.  And  what  do  you  care?" 

'Masso,  who  was  quick  and  eager,  shook  his  head. 
"I  work  all  da  time.  I  maka  da  mon.  I  go  home  to 
old  countra.  That  'nough.  Work  alia  da  time." 

Big  Jim  ate  his  beef  sandwich  slowly.  Little  Jim, 
chin  in  palm,  sat  listening,  turning  the  matter  over 
in  his  mind.  His  father  tried  another  angle. 

"What  started  you  over  here,  'Masso?  How'd  you 
happen  to  think  of  coming?" 

'Masso  understood  this.    "Homa,  mucha  talk  'bout 


4  STILL   JIM 

desa  landa.  How  ever'boda  getta  da  mon  over 
here.  I  heara  da  talk  but  it  like  a  dream,  see  ?  I  lika 
da  talk  but  I  lika  my  own  Italia,  see?  But  in  olda 
countra  many  men  work  for  steamship  compana. 
Steamship  compana,  they  needa  da  mon',  too,  see? 
They  talk  to  us  mucha,  fixa  her  easy,  come  here  easy, 
getta  da  job  easy,  see?  Steamship  men,  they  keepa 
right  after  me,  so  I  come,  see?" 

Big  Jim  lighted  his  pipe.  "Tell  Mama  that  was  a 
good  dinner,  Jimmy,"  he  said.  "I  haven't  got  any 
thing  personal  against  you,  'Masso,"  he  went  on. 
"You're  a  human  being  like  me,  trying  to  take  care  of 
your  family.  I  suppose  you  can't  help  it  that  Italians 
as  a  class  are  a  lawless  lot  of  cut- throats.  You  cer 
tainly  are  willing  workers.  But  I'd  like  to  bet  that  if 
we'd  shut  the  doors  after  the  Civil  War  and  let  those 
that  was  in  this  country  have  their  chance,  this  coun 
try  would  have  a  wholesomer  growth  than  it  has  now. 
I'll  bet  if  they  had  fifty  men  in  this  quarry  like  me  in 
stead  of  a  hundred  like  you,  it  would  turn  out  twice 
the  work  it  does  now." 

"But  Dad,  they  say  you  can't  get  real  Americans  to 
do  this  kind  of  work,"  said  Little  Jim. 

"Deal  with  facts,  Jimmy;  deal  with  facts,"  drawled 
his  father.  "I'm  working  here.  Will  Endicott,  John 
Allen,  Phil  Chadwick  are  all  day  laborers.  Our  fore 
fathers  founded  this  government  and  this  town. 
What's  happened  to  it  and  to  us  ?  It's  too  late  for  us 
older  men  to  do  much.  But  you  kids  have  got  to  think 
about  it.  What's  happened  to  us  ?  What's  happened  to 
this  old  town?  I  want  you  to  think  about  it." 

Little  Jim  took  the  dinner  bucket  and  started  for 
home.  His  father  had  not  been  talking  on  a  topic 


THE    QUARRY  5 

new  to  the  Mannings  or  to  the  Mannings'  friends. 
Little  Jim  had  been  brought  up  to  wonder  what  was 
the  matter  with  his  breed,  what  had  happened  to 
'Exham.  Little  Jim's  forefathers  had  once  held  in 
grant  from  an  English  king  the  land  on  which  the 
quarry  lay.  His  grandfather  had  given  it  up.  Farm 
labor  was  hard  to  get.  The  mortgage  had  grown 
heavier  and  heavier.  The  land  all  about  was  being 
bought  up  by  Polish  and  Italian  hucksters  who  lived 
on  what  they  could  not  sell  and  whose  wives  and  chil 
dren  were  their  farm  hands.  Grandfather  Manning 
could  not  compete  with  this  condition. 

Big  Jim  had  gone  to  New  York  City  in  his  early 
twenties.  He  had  had  a  good  high  school  education 
and  was  a  first-class  mechanic.  But  somehow,  he 
could  not  compete.  He  was  slow  and  thoroughgoing 
and  honest.  He  could  not  compete  with  the  new  type 
of  workman,  the  man  bred  to  do  part  work.  When 
Little  Jim  was  five,  the  Mannings  had  come  back  to 
Exham,  with  the  hope  of  somehow,  sometime,  buying 
back  the  old  farm. 

Little  Jim  passed  the  old  farmhouse  slowly.  It  was 
used  for  a  storehouse  for  quarry  supplies  now.  Yet 
it  still  was  beautiful.  Two  great  elms  still  shaded  the 
wide  portico.  The  great  eaves  still  sheltered  many 
paned  windows.  The  delicate  balustrade  still  guarded 
the  curving  staircase.  The  dream  of  Little  Jim's  life 
was  to  live  in  that  great,  hospitable  mansion. 

He  passed  with  a  boy's  deliberation  down  the  long 
street  that  led  toward  the  cottage  where  the  Mannings 
now  lived.  The  street  was  heavily  shaded  by  gigantic 
elms.  It  was  lined  on  either  side  by  fine  Colonial 
houses,  set  in  gardens,  some  of  which  still  held  dials 


6  STILL   JIM 

and  bricked  walks ;  wide,  deep  gardens  some  of  which 
still  were  ghostly  sweet.  But  the  majority  of  the 
mansions  had  been  turned  into  Italian  tenement  houses. 
The  gardens  were  garbage  heaps.  The  houses  were 
filthy  and  disheveled.  The  look  of  them  clutched  one's 
heart  with  horror  and  despair,  as  if  one  looked  on  a 
once  lovely  mother  turned  to  a  street  drabble. 

Little  Jim  looked  and  thought  with  a  sense  of  help 
less  melancholy  that  should  not  have  belonged  to  four 
teen.  When  he  reached  the  cottage,  his  mother,  taking 
the  bucket  from  him,  caught  the  look  in  the  clear  gray 
eyes  that  were  like  her  own.  She  had  no  words  for 
the  look.  Nevertheless  she  understood  it  immedi 
ately.  Mrs.  Manning  was  nervous  and  energetic,  with 
the  half-worried,  half-wistful  face  of  so  many  New 
England  women. 

"Jimmy/'  she  said,  "Phil  Chadwick  just  whistled 
for  you.  He  went  to  the  swimming  hole." 

The  words  were  magic.  They  swept  that  intangible 
look  from  Jim's  face  and  left  it  flushed  and  boyish. 

"Gee !"  he  exclaimed,  "he's  early  today.  Can  I  have 
my  dinner  right  off?" 

"Yes,"  replied  his  mother,  "but  remember  not  to 
go  in  until  three  o'clock.  I'm  sure  I  don't  see  what 
keeps  all  you  boys  from  dying!  And  how  you  can 
stand  the  blood  suckers  and  turtles  up  there  in  that 
mud  hole!  Goodness!  Come,  dear,  I've  cooled  off 
your  soup  so  you  can  hurry.  I  knew  you'd  want  to." 

Will  Endicott  dropped  in  at  the  Mannings'  that 
evening.  Will  was  a  short,  florid  man,  younger  than 
Big  Jim.  Little  Jim,  his  hair  still  damp  and  his  fingers 
wrinkled  from  water  soak,  laid  down  his  Youth's 
Companion.  Usually  when  Will  Endicott  came  there 


THE    QUARRY  7 

were  some  lively  discussions  on  the  immigration  ques 
tion  and  the  tariff.  Even  had  Little  Jim  wanted  to 
talk,  he  would  not  have  been  allowed  to  do  so.  Among 
the  New  Englanders  in  Exham  the  old  maxim  still 
obtained,  "Children  are  to  be  seen  and  not  heard." 
But  Little  Jim  always  listened  eagerly. 

Endicott  looked  excited  tonight.  But  he  had  no 
news  about  the  tariff. 

"There's  a  boy  at  my  house!"  he  exclaimed.  "He 
just  came.  Nine  pounds!  Annie  is  doing  fine." 

"Oh!"  cried  Mrs.  Manning,  while  Big  Jim  shook 
Will's  hand  solemnly.  "Oh,  goodness!  I  didn't 
know — Why  I  thought  tomorrow — Well,  I  guess  I'll 
go  right  over  now.  Goodness "  and  still  exclaim 
ing,  she  hurried  out  into  the  summer  dusk. 

"That's  great,  Will !"  said  Big  Jim.  "I  wish  I  could 
afford  to  have  a  dozen.  But  they  cost  money,  these 
kids.  I  suppose  you'll  be  like  me,  never  be  able  to 
afford  but  the  one." 

"He's  awful  strong,"  said  Will,  abstractedly.  "To 
hear  him  yell,  you'd  think  he  was  twins.  Looks  like 
me,  too.  Red  as  a  beet  and  fat." 

"Must  be  a  beauty,"  said  Big  Jim.  "That  Wop 
that  works  with  me  has  seven  children  about  a  year 
apart.  Doesn't  worry  him  at  all.  He  just  moves  into 
a  cheaper  place,  cuts  down  on  food  and  clothes  and 
takes  another  one  out  of  school  and  sets  him  to  work. 
They're  growing  up  like  Indians,  lawless  little  devils. 
A  fine  addition  to  the  country!  I  was  reading  the 
other  day  that  by  the  law  of  averages  a  man  has  got 
to  have  four  children  to  be  pretty  sure  of  his  line 
surviving.  And  it  said  that  we  New  Englanders  have 
the  smallest  birth  rate  in  the  civilized  world  except 


8  STILL   JIM 

France,  which  is  the  same  as  ours.  And  we've  got  the 
biggest  proportion  of  foreigners  of  any  part  of 
America  now,  up  here." 

Will  came  out  of  the  clouds  for  a  moment.  "I've 
been  telling  you  that  for  years.  What's  the  matter 
with  us,  anyhow?" 

Big  Jim  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "All  like  you  and 
me,  I  suppose.  If  we  can't  give  a  child  a  decent 
chance,  we  won't  have  'em.  And  these  foreigners 
have  cut  down  wages  so's  we  can  hardly  support  one, 
let  alone  two." 

Endicott  rose.  "I  just  happened  to  think.  I'm  go 
ing  to  borrow  Chadwick's  scales  and  weigh  him  again. 
They're  better  than  mine." 

Big  Jim  chuckled  and  filled  his  pipe.  Then  he 
sighed.  "We've  got  to  go,  Jimmy.  The  old  New 
Englander  is  as  dead  as  the  Indian.  We  are  has- 
beens." 

"But  why?"  urged  Little  Jim.  "I  don't  feel  like  a 
has-been.  What's  made  us  this  wray  ?  Why  don't  you 
and  the  rest  do  something?" 

"You'd  have  to  change  our  skins,"  replied  his 
father,  "to  make  us  fight  these  foreigners  on  their 
own  level.  I'm  going  to  bed.  No  use  waiting  for 
Mama.  There's  a  hard  day  ahead  in  the  quarry  to 
morrow.  That  break  set  us  back  on  a  rush  order. 
The  boss  was  crazy.  I  told  him  as  I  told  him  forty 
times  before  that  he'd  have  to  get  a  new  derrick,  but 
he  won't.  Not  so  long  as  he's  got  me  to  piece  and 
contrive  and  make  things  do. 

"I  tried  to  talk  'Masso  and  the  rest  into  striking  for 
it  today,  but  they  don't  care  anything  about  the  equip-, 
ment.  It's  something  bigger  than  I  can  get  at.  It 


THE    QUARRY  9 

isn't  only  this  quarry.  It's  everywhere  I  work.  Al 
ways  these  foreigners  are  willing  to  work  in  such 
conditions  as  we  Americans  can't  stand.  Every 
where  twenty  of  'em  waiting  to  undercut  our  pay. 
And  the  big  men  bank  on  this  very  thing  to  make 
themselves  rich.  You'd  better  go  after  your  mother, 
Jimmy.  This  village  ain't  safe  for  a  woman  after 
dark  the  way  it  was  before  the  Italians  came.  I'm 
going  to  bed." 

The  next  night  at  supper  Big  Jim  was  very  silent. 
When  he  had  eaten  his  slice  of  cake  he  said  in  his  slow 
way,  "No  more  cake  for  a  while,  I  guess,  Mama." 

Mrs.  Manning  looked  up  in  her  nervous,  startled 
manner. 

"What's  the  matter,  Jim?" 

"Well,  I  went  with  my  usual  kick  to  the  boss  about 
the  derrick  and  he  told  me  to  take  it  or  leave  it.  That 
work  was  slacking  up  so  he'd  decided  on  a  ten  per 
cent,  cut  in  wages.  I  don't  know  but  what  I'd  better 
quit  and  look  for  something  else." 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Manning.  She  had 
been  through  many,  many  periods  of  job  hunting  since 
her  marriage.  "Keep  your  job,  Jim.  Next  week  is 
September  and  winter  will  be  here  before  we  know  it. 
WV11  manage  somehow." 

"I'll  not  go  to  school,"  cried  Little  Jim.  "I'll  get 
a  job.  Please,  Dad,  let  me!" 

"You'll  stay  in  school,"  replied  Big  Jim  in  his  best 
stone  chisel  drawl,  "as  long  as  I  have  strength  to 
work.  And  if  I  can  send  you  through  college,  you'll 
go.  Don't  you  ever  think  of  anything,  Jimmy,  but 
that  you  are  to  have  a  thorough  education?  If  any 
thing  happens  to  me  you  are  to  get  an  education  if  you 


10  STILL   JIM 

have  to  sweep  the  streets  to  do  it.  That's  the  New 
England  idea.  Educate  the  children  at  whatever  cost. 
I  had  a  high  school  education  and  you'll  have  a  col 
lege  course  if  I  live.  And  if  I  don't  live,  get  it  for 
yourself.  I'll  have  another  cup  of  tea,  please,  Mama." 

"Well,  it  makes  me  sick !"  exclaimed  Little  Jim  with 
one  of  his  rare  outbursts  of  feeling,  "to  have  you 
and  mama  working  so  hard  and  me  do  nothing  but 
feed  the  chickens  and  chop  wood.  I'll  give  up  the 
Youth's  Companion,  anyhow." 

Mrs.  Manning  looked  horrified.  The  Companion 
was  as  much  a  family  institution  as  the  dictionary. 
"How  do  you  think  you  are  going  to  be  really  edu 
cated,  Jimmy,  unless  you  read  good  things?  Your 
father  and  I  were  brought  up  on  the  Companion  and 
you'll  keep  right  on  with  it.  I'll  get  cheaper  coffee, 
Papa,  and  we  can  give  up  cream.  Ten  per  cent.  That 
will  make  a  difference  of  twenty  cents  a  day.  I'll  turn 
my  winter  suit." 

"I'll  give  up  tobacco  for  a  while,"  said  Big  Jim.  "I 
was  thinking  about  it,  anyhow.  It's  got  so  it  bites 
my  tongue.  I  don't  need  any  new  winter  things,  but 
Jimmy's  got  to  look  decent.  My  father  would  turn 
over  in  his  grave  if  he  thought  I  couldn't  keep  the  last 
Manning  dressed  decent.  Maybe  we  ought  to  give  up 
this  cottage,  Mama.  The  Higgins  cottage  is  pretty 
good  but  it  hasn't  got  any  bathroom." 

"If  you  think  I'm  going  to  let  Jimmy  grow  up 
without  a  bathroom,  you're  mistaken,"  replied  Mrs. 
Manning.  "I've  got  a  chance  to  send  jelly  and  pre 
serves  to  Boston  and  I'm  going  to  do  it.  Don't 
worry,  Papa.  We'll  make  it." 

When  Little  Jim  took  his  father's  dinner  to  him  the 


THE    QUARRY  11 

next  day,  'Masso's  boy  Tony  was  sharing  'Masso's 
lunch.  His  face  was  dust  smeared. 

"I  gotta  job,"  announced  Tony. 

'Masso  nodded.  "He  bigga  kid  now.  Not  go  da 
school  any  more.  Boss,  he  giva  da  cut.  I  bringa  da 
Tony,  getta  da  job  as  tool  boy.  Boss,  he  fire  da 
Yankee  boy.  Tony,  he  work  cheaper." 

"He's  too  small  to  work,"  said  Big  Jim.  "You'd 
ought  to  keep  him  in  school  and  give  him  a  chance." 

"Chance  for  what?"  asked  'Masso. 

"Chance  to  grow  into  a  decent  American  citizen," 
snarled  Big  Jim  with  the  feeling  he  had  had  so  often 
of  late,  the  sense  of  having  his  back  to  the  wall  while 
the  pack  worried  him  in  front. 

Tony  looked  up  quickly.  He  was  a  brilliant  faced 
little  chap.  "I  am  an  American!"  he  cried.  "I'll  be 
rich  some  day." 

Big  Jim  looked  from  'Masso's  child  to  his  own. 
Then  he  looked  off  over  the  browning  summer  fields, 
beyond  the  quarry.  There  lay  the  land  that  his  fa 
thers  had  held  in  grant  from  an  English  king.  But  the 
fields  that  had  built  Big  Jim's  flesh  and  blood  were 
dotted  with  Italian  huts.  The  lane  in  which  Big  Jim's 
mother  had  met  his  father,  returning  crippled  from 
Antietam,  was  blocked  by  a  Polish  road  house. 

Little  Jim  didn't  like  the  look  on  his  father's  face. 
He  spoke  his  first  thought  to  break  the  silence. 

"Can't  I  stay  for  a  while,  Dad,  and  watch  you  load 
the  big  stones?" 

"If  your  mother  won't  worry  and  you'll  keep  out  of 
the  way,"  answered  Big  Jim,  rising  as  the  whistle 
blew. 

To  industry,  the  cheapest  portion  of  its  equipment 


12  STILL    JIM 

is  its  inexhaustible  human  labor  supply.  It  was  Big 
Jim  who  was  sufficiently  intelligent  to  keep  demanding 
a  new  derrick.  It  was  Big  Jim  who  was  adept  in 
managing  the  decrepit  machinery  and  so  it  was  he 
who  was  sent  to  the  danger  spots,  he  having  the  keen 
est  wits  and  the  best  knowledge  of  the  danger  spots. 

Little  Jim,  sitting  with  his  long  legs  dangling  over 
the  derrick  pit,  watched  his  father  and  'Masso  tease 
the  derrick  into  swinging  the  great  blocks  to  the  flat 
car  for  the  rush  order. 

The  thing  happened  very  quickly,  so  quickly  that 
Little  Jim  could  not  jump  to  his  feet  and  start  madly 
down  into  the  pit  before  it  was  all  over.  The  great 
derrick  broke  clean  from  its  moorings  and  dropped 
across  the  flat  car,  throwing  Big  Jim  and  'Masso  and 
the  swinging  block  together  in  a  ghastly  heap. 

It  took  some  time  to  rig  the  other  derrick  to  bear 
on  the  situation.  Little  Jim  dropped  to  the  ground 
and  managed  to  grip  his  father's  hand,  protruding 
from  under  the  debris.  But  the  boy  could  not  speak. 
He  only  sobbed  dryly  and  clung  desperately  to  the 
inert  hand. 

At  last  Big  Jim  and  'Masso  were  laid  side  by  side 
upon  the  brown  grass  at  the  quarry  edge.  'Masso's 
chest  was  broken.  The  priest  got  to  him  before  the 
doctor.  Had  'Masso  known  enough,  before  he 
choked,  he  might  have  said : 

"It  doesn't  matter.  I  have  done  a  real  man's  part. 
I  have  worked  to  the  limit  of  my  strength  and  I  shall 
survive  for  America  through  my  fertility.  What  I 
have  done  to  America,  no  one  knows." 

But  'Masso  was  no  thinker.  Before  he  slipped 
away,  he  only  said  some  futile  word  to  the  priest  who 


THE    QUARRY  13 

knelt  beside  him.  'Masso  never  had  gotten  very  far 
from  the  thought  of  his  Maker. 

Big  Jim,  lying  on  the  border  of  the  fields  where  his 
fathers  had  dreamed  and  hoped  and  worked,  looked 
hazily  at  Little  Jim,  and  tried  to  say  something,  but 
couldn't.  Once  more  the  sense  of  having  his  back 
to  the  wall,  the  pack  suffocating  him,  closed  in  on  him, 
blinded  him,  and  merged  with  him  into  the  darkness 
into  which  none  of  us  has  seen. 

Had  Big  Jim  been  able  to  clarify  the  chaos  of 
thoughts  in  his  mind  and  had  he  had  a  longer  time  for 
dying,  he  might  have  done  the  thing  far  more  dra 
matically.  He  merely  rasped  out  his  life,  a  bloody, 
voiceless,  broken  thing  on  the  golden  August  fields, 
with  his  chaos  of  thoughts  unspoken. 

He  might,  had  things  been  otherwise,  have  seen  the 
long,  sad  glory  of  humanity's  migrations;  might  have 
caught  for  an  unspeakable  second  a  vision  of  that 
never  ceasing,  never  long  deflected  on-moving  of 
human  life  that  must  continue,  regardless  of  race 
tragedy,  as  long  as  humans  crave  food  either  for  the 
body  or  the  soul.  He  might  have  seen  himself  as 
symbolizing  one  of  those  races  that  slip  over  the  hori 
zon  into  oblivion,  unprotesting,  only  vaguely  knowing. 
And  seeing  this  thing,  Big  Jim  might  have  paused 
and  looking  into  the  face  of  the  horde  that  was  press 
ing  him  over  the  brim,  he  might  have  said : 

"We  who  are  about  to  die,  salute  thee!" 

But  Big  Jim  was  not  dramatic.  Little  Jim  never 
knew  what  his  father  might  have  said.  Instinct  told  the 
boy  when  the  end  had  come.  His  dry  sobs  changed  to 
the  abandoned  tears  of  childhood  as  he  ran  down  the 
street  of  elms  and  besotted  mansions  to  tell  his  mother. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  OLD   SWIMMING   HOLE 

"The  same  sand  that  gave  birth  to  the  coyote  and  the 
eagle  gave  birth  to  the  Indian  and  to  me.  I  wonder 
why !" 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

LITTLE  JIM  and  his  mother  were  left  very  much 
alone  by  Big  Jim's  death.  Little  Jim  was  lit 
erally  the  last  of  the  Mannings.  Mrs.  Manning's  only 
relative,  her  sister,  had  died  when  Jim  was  a  baby. 
There  was  no  one  to  whom  Mrs.  Manning  felt  that 
she  could  turn  for  help. 

Jim  pleaded  to  be  allowed  to  quit  school  and  go  to 
work. 

"I'm  fourteen,  Mama,  and  as  big  as  lots  of  men.  I 
can  take  care  of  you." 

Mrs.  Manning  had  not  cried  much.  Her  heart 
break  would  not  give  into  tears  easily.  But  at  Jim's 
words  she  broke  into  hysterical  sobs. 

"Jimmy!  Jimmy!  I  don't  see  how  you  can  ever 
think  of  such  a  thing  after  all  Papa  said  to  you.  Al 
most  his  last  advice  to  you  was  about  getting  an  edu 
cation.  He  was  so  proud  of  your  school  work.  Why, 
all  I've  got  to  live  for  now  is  to  carry  out  Papa's  plans 
for  you." 


THE    OLD    SWIMMING    HOLE     15 

Jimmy  stood  beside  his  mother.  He  was  taller  than 
she.  Suddenly,  with  boyish  awkwardness,  he  pulled 
the  sobbing  little  woman  to  him  and  leaned  his  young 
cheek  on  her  graying  hair. 

"Mama,  I'll  make  myself  into  a  darned  college  pro 
fessor,  if  you  just  won't  cry!"  he  whispered. 

For  several  days  after  the  funeral,  Jim  wandered 
about  the  house  and  yard  fighting  to  control  his  tears 
when  he  came  upon  some  sudden  reminder  of  his 
father;  the  broken  rake  his  father  had  mended  the 
week  before;  a  pair  of  old  shoes  in  the  wood  shed; 
one  of  his  father's  pipes  on  the  kitchen  window 
ledge.  The  nights  were  the  worst,  when  the  picture 
of  his  father's  last  moments  would  not  let  the  boy 
sleep.  It  seemed  to  Jim  that  if  he  could  learn  to  for 
get  this  picture  a  part  of  his  grief  would  be  lifted. 
It  was  the  uselessness  of  Big  Jim's  death  that  made 
the  boy  unboyishly  bitter.  He  could  not  believe  that 
any  other  death  ever  had  been  so  needless.  It  was 
only  in  the  years  to  come  that  Jim  was  to  learn  how 
needlessly,  how  unremittingly,  industry  takes  its  toll 
of  lives. 

Somehow,  Jim  had  a  boyish  feeling  that  his  father 
had  had  many  things  to  say  to  him  that  never  had  been 
said ;  that  these  things  were  very  wise  and  would  have 
guided  him.  Jim  felt  rudderless.  He  felt  that  it  was 
incumbent  on  him  to  do  the  things  that  his  father  had 
not  been  able  to  do.  Vaguely  and  childishly  he  de 
termined  that  he  must  make  good  for  the  Mannings 
and  for  Exham.  Poor  old  Exham,  with  its  lost 
ideals ! 

It  was  in  thinking  this  over  that  Jim  conceived  an 
idea  that  became  a  great  comfort  to  him.  He  decided 


16  STILL    JIM 

to  write  down  all  the  advice  that  he  could  recall  his 
father's  giving  him,  and  when  his  mother  became  less 
broken  up,  to  ask  her  to  tell  him  all  the  plans  his 
father  might  have  had  for  him. 

So  it  was  that  a  week  or  so  after  her  husband's 
death,  Mrs.  Manning  found  one  of  Jim's  scratch  pads 
on  the  table  in  his  room,  with  a  carefully  printed  title 
on  the  cover: 


MY  FATHER'S  ADVICES  TO  ME. 

After  she  had  wiped  the  quick  tears  from  her  eyes, 
she  read  the  few  pages  Jim  had  completed  in  his 
sprawling  hand : 

"My  father  said  to  me,  'Jimmy,  never  make  ex 
cuses.  It's  always  too  late  for  excuses/ 

"He  said,  'A  liar  is  a  first  cousin  to  a  skunk.  There 
isn't  a  worse  coward  than  a  liar/ 

"He  said  to  me,  'Don't  belly-ache.  Stand  up  to  your 
troubles  like  a  man.' 

"My  father  said,  'Hang  to  what  you  undertake  like 
a  hound  to  a  warm  scent.' 

"He  said  to  me,  'Life  is  made  up  of  obeying.  What 
you  don't  learn  from  me  about  that,  the  world  will 
kick  into  you.  The  stars  themselves  obey  a  law.  God 
must  hate  a  law  breaker.' 

"My  father  said,  'Somehow  us  Americans  are 
quitters/ 

"My  mother  said  my  father  said,  'I  want  Jimmy 
to  go  through  college.  I  want  him  to  marry  young 
and  have  a  big  family/ 

"The  thing  my  father  said  to  me  oftenest  lately  was, 


THE    OLD    SWIMMING    HOLE     17 

'Jimmy,  be  clean  about  women.  Some  day  you  will 
know  what  I  mean  when  I  say  that  sex  is  energy. 
Keep  yourself  clean  for  your  life  work  and  your  wife 
and  children.' ' 

Mrs.  Manning  read  the  pages  over  several  times, 
then  she  laid  the  book  down  and  stood  staring  out  of 
the  window. 

"Oh,  he  was  a  good  man!"  she  whispered.  "He  was 
a  good  man!  If  Jimmy  could  have  had  him  just  two 
years  more!  I  don't  know  how  to  teach  him  the 
things  a  man  ought  to  know.  A  boy  needs  his  father. 
Oh,  my  love !  My  love " 

Down  below,  Jim  was  leaning  on  the  front  gate. 
His  chum,  Phil  Chadwick,  was  coming  slowly  up  the 
street.  The  boys  had  not  been  near  Jim  since  the 
funeral.  Jim  had  become  a  person  set  apart  from 
their  boy  world.  No  one  appreciates  the  dignity  of 
grief  better  than  a  boy,  or  underneath  his  awkward 
ness  has  a  finer  way  of  showing  it.  Phil's  mother,  to 
his  unspeakable  discomfort,  had  insisted  now  that  he 
go  call  on  Jim. 

Phil,  his  round  face  red  with  embarrassment,  ap 
proached  the  gate  a  little  sidewise. 

"Hello,  Still !"  he  said  casually. 

"Hello,  Pilly!"  replied  Jim,  blushing  in  sympathy. 

There  was  a  pause,  then  said  Phil,  leaning  on  the 
gate,  "Diana's  got  her  pups.  One's  going  to  be  a 
bulldog  and  two  of  'em  are  setters.  U-u-u — want  to 
come  over  and  see  'em  and  choose  yours?" 

Jim's  face  was  quivering.  It  was  his  father  who 
had  persuaded  his  mother  that  Jim  ought  to  have  one 
of  Diana's  pups.  Mrs.  Manning  felt  toward  dogs 
much  as  she  might  have  toward  hyenas. 


i8  STILL   JIM 

"I-I— guess  not  today,  Pilly !" 

Another  long  pause  during  which  the  lads  swung 
the  gate  to  and  fro  and  looked  in  opposite  directions. 
A  locust  shrilled  from  the  elm  tree.  Finally  Phil  said : 

"Still,  you  gotta  come  up  to  the  swimming  hole. 
It'll  do  you  good.  He — he'd  a  wanted  you  to — to — to 
do  what  you  could  to  cheer  up.  Come  on,  old  skinny. 
Tell  your  mother.  We'll  keep  away  from  the  other 
kids.  Come  on.  You  gotta  do  something  or  you'll 
go  nutty  in  your  head." 

Jim  turned  and  went  into  the  house.  His  mother 
forestalled  his  request. 

"If  Phil  wants  you  to  go  swimming,  dear,  go  on. 
It  will  do  you  good.  Don't  stay  in  too  long." 

Jim  and  Phil  walked  up  the  road  to  the  old  Allen 
place.  They  climbed  the  stile  into  a  field  where  the 
aftermath  of  the  clover  crop  was  richly  green  and 
vibrating  with  the  song  of  cricket  and  katydid.  The 
path  that  the  boys  followed  had  been  used  in  turn 
by  Indian  and  Puritan.  The  field  still  yielded  an  oc 
casional  hide  scraper  or  stone  axe. 

There  was  a  pine  grove  at  the  far  edge  of  the  field. 
In  the  center  of  the  grove  was  the  pond  that  had  for 
centuries  been  the  swimming  pool  for  boys,  Indian 
and  white.  Ground  pine  and  "checkerberry"  grew 
abundantly  in  the  grove.  Both  boys  breathed  deep  of 
the  piney  fragrance  and  filled  their  mouths  with  pun 
gent  "checkerberry"  leaves.  The  path,  deep  worn  by 
many  bare  feet,  circled  round  the  great  pines  to  the 
clearing  where  the  pond  lay.  It  was  black  with  the 
shadows  of  the  grove  where  it  was  not  blue  and  white 
in  mirroring  the  September  sky.  Lily  pads  fringed 


THE    OLD    SWIMMING    HOLE     19 

the  brim.  Moss  and  a  tender,  long  grass  grew  clear 
to  the  water's  edge. 

Several  boys  were  undressing  near  the  ancient 
springboard.  They  looked  embarrassed  and  stopped 
their  laughter  when  they  saw  Jim.  He  and  Phil  got 
into  their  swimming  trunks  quickly  and  followed  each 
other  in  a  clean  dive  into  the  pool.  They  swam  about 
in  silence  for  a  time  and  then  landed  on  the  far  side 
and  lay  in  the  sun  on  moss  and  pine  needles. 

The  beauty  and  sweetness  of  the  place  were  subtle 
balm  to  Jim.  And  surely  if  countless  generations  of 
boy  joy  could  leave  association,  the  old  swimming  hole 
should  have  spoken  very  sweetly  to  Jim.  The  swim 
ming  hole  was  a  boy  sanctuary.  The  water  was  too 
shallow  for  men.  Little  girls  were  not  allowed  to 
invade  the  grove  except  in  early  spring  for  trailing 
arbutus.  The  oldest  men  in  Exham  told  that  their 
grandfathers,  as  boys,  had  sought  the  swimming  hole 
as  the  adult  seeks  his  club. 

Jim  looked  with  interest  at  his  legs.  "I've  got  six. 
How  many  have  you,  Pilly?" 

Phil  counted  the  brown  bloodsuckers  that  clung 
to  his  fat  calves.  "Seven.  Mean  cusses,  ain't  they." 

Jim  worked  with  a  sharp  edged  stone,  scraping  his 
thin  shanks.  "You've  got  fat  to  spare.  They've  had 
enough  off  of  me  today." 

"I  remember  how  crazy  I  was  first  time  they  got 
on  me.  Felt  as  if  I  had  snakes."  Phil  rooted  six  of 
the  suckers  off  his  legs  and  paused  at  the  seventh. 
"He's  as  skinny  as  you  are,  Still.  I'll  give  him  two 
minutes  more  to  finish  a  square  meal." 

The  two  boys  lay  staring  out  at  the  pond. 

"Have  you  gotta  go  to  work,  Still?"  asked  Phil. 


20  STILLJIM 

"Yes,"  replied  Jim.     "Mother  says  I  can't,  though." 

Phil  waited  more  or  less  patiently.  His  mates  had 
long  since  learned  that  Jim's  silences  were  hard  to 
break. 

"But  I'm  going  to  get  a  job  in  the  quarry  as  soon 
as  I  can  keep  from  getting  sick  at  my  stomach  every 
time  I  see  a  derrick." 

"My  dad  says  your — he — he  always  planned  to  send 
you  through  college,"  said  Phil. 

Jim  nodded.  "I'll  get  through  college.  See  if  I 
don't.  But  I  won't  let  my  mother  support  me.  I've 
got  a  lot  of  things  to  finish  up  for  him." 

"What  things?"  asked  Phil. 

"Well,"  Jim  hesitated  for  words,  "he  worried  a  lot 
because  all  the  real  Americans  are  dying  off  or  going, 
somehow,  and  he  always  said  it  was  us  kids'  business 
to  find  out  why.  That's  the  chief  job." 

"I  don't  see  what  you  can  do  about  it,"  said  Phil. 
"That's  a  foolish  thing  to  worry  about.  Why " 

A  boy  screamed  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  pond. 
It  was  so  different  from  the  shouts  and  laughter  of 
the  moment  before  that  Jim  and  Phil  jumped  to  their 
feet.  Across  the  swimming  hole  a  naked  boy  was 
dancing  up  and  down,  screaming  hysterically, 

"Take  'em  off!    Take  'em  off!    Take  'em  off!" 

"It's  the  new  minister's  kid,  Charlie,"  laughed  Phil. 
"The  fellows  have  got  the  bloodsuckers  on  him.  Ain't 
he  the  booby?  Told  me  he  was  fifteen  and  he's  big- 
ger'n  you  are.  Screams  like  a  girl." 

Jim  stood  staring,  his  hand  shielding  his  gray  eyes 
from  the  sun.  Across  the  pond,  the  boys  were  doubled 
up  with  laughter,  watching  the  minister's  son  writhe 
and  tear  at  his  naked  body.  Suddenly,  Jim  shot  round 


THE    OLD    SWIMMING    HOLE     21 

the  edge  of  the  pond,  followed  by  Phil.  A  dozen 
naked  boys  hopped  joyfully  around  the  twisting 
Charlie.  They  were  of  all  ages,  from  eight  to  sixteen. 

When  Jim  ran  up  to  the  new  boy,  his  mates  shouted  : 
"Don't  butt  in,  now,  Jim.  Don't  butt  in.  He's  a 
darned  sissy." 

Jim  did  not  reply.  Charlie  was  considerably  larger 
than  he.  He  had  a  finely  muscled  pink  and  white 
body,  liberally  dotted  now  with  wriggling  brown  suck 
ers.  This  was  a  familiar  form  of  hazing  with  the  Ex- 
ham  boys.  There  was  a  horror  in  a  first  experience 
with  the  little  brown  pests  that  usually  resulted  in  a 
mild  form  of  hysteria  very  pleasing  to  the  young 
spectators.  But  Charlie  was  in  an  agony  of  loathing, 
far  ahead  of  anything  the  boys  had  seen. 

As  Jim  ran  up,  Charlie  struck  at  him  madly  and 
the  boys  yelled  in  delight.  Jim  turned  on  them. 

"Shut  up!"  he  shouted.     "Shut  up  now!" 

Thin  and  tall,  his  boyish  ribs  showing,  his  damp 
hair  tossed  back  from  his  beautiful  gray  eyes  that 
were  now  black  with  anger,  Jim  dominated  the  crowd. 
There  was  immediate  silence,  broken  only  by  Charlie's 
wild  sobs. 

"Take 'em  off!    Take 'em  off !" 

"He's  going  to  have  a  fit !"  exclaimed  Phil. 

Charlie's  lips  were  blue  and  foam  flecked.  Again 
as  Jim  approached  him,  the  minister's  boy  planted  a 
blow  on  his  ribs  that  made  Jim  spin. 

"Charlie!"  cried  Jim.     "Shut  up!" 

The  same  peculiarly  commanding  note  that  had  si 
lenced  his  mates  pierced  through  Charlie's  hysteria. 
He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  in  that  moment  Jim 


22  STILL   JIM 

said,  "Hold  your  breath  and  they  can't  draw  blood. 
I'll  have  'em  off  you  in  a  second." 

"C-c-can't  they?"  sobbed  Charlie. 

"Hold  your  breath  and  I'll  show  you,"  said  Jim. 
"Here,  Phil,  take  hold." 

As  they  stripped  the  squirming  suckers,  Jim  kept  a 
hand  on  Charlie's  arm.  "Can  you  fight,  kid?"  he 
asked.  "You've  got  muscle.  You'd  better  lick  the 
fellow  that  started  this  on  you  or  you'll  never  hear 
the  end  of  it." 

The  blue  receded  from  the  older  boy's  lips.  He  had 
a  fine,  sensitive  face.  "I  can  fight,"  he  replied.  "But 
I  fight  fellows  and  not  snakes  or  worms." 

Jim  nodded  as  he  pulled  off  the  last  sucker.  Then 
he  turned  to  the  boys,  his  hand  still  on  Charlie's  arm. 
He  spoke  in  his  usual  drawl : 

"They's  a  difference  between  hazing  a  fellow  and 
torturing  him.  Some  mighty  gritty  people  can't  stand 
snakes  or  suckers.  You  kids  ought  to  use  sense.  Who 
started  this?" 

The  biggest  boy  in  the  crowd,  Fatty  Allen,  an 
swered  :  "I  did.  And  if  your  father  hadn't  just  died 
I'd  lick  the  stuffing  out  of  you,  Still,  for  butting  in." 

A  shout  of  derision  went  up  from  the  boys.  Jim's 
lips  tightened.  "You  lick  the  new  kid  first,"  he  an 
swered,  "then  tackle  me.  Get  after  him,  Charlie !" 

Charlie,  quite  himself  again,  leaped  toward  Fatty 
and  the  battle  was  on. 

There  had  been,  unknown  to  the  boys,  an  interested 
spectator  to  this  entire  scene.  Just  as  Charlie's 
screams  had  begun,  a  heavy  set  man,  ruddy  and  well 
dressed,  with  iron  gray  hair  and  black  lashed,  blue 
eyes,  had  paused  beside  a  pine  tree.  It  was  a  vividly 


THE    OLD    SWIMMING    HOLE     23 

beautiful  picture  that  he  saw;  the  pine  set  pool,  rush 
and  pad  fringed,  and  the  naked  boys,  now  gathered 
about  the  struggling  two  near  the  ancient  springboard. 
One  of  the  smaller  boys,  moving  about  to  get  a  better 
view  of  the  battle,  came  within  arm  reach  of  the 
stranger,  who  clutched  him. 

"Who's  this  boy  they  call  Still?"  he  asked.  "Stand 
up  here  on  this  stump.  I'll  brace  you." 

The  small  boy  heaved  a  sigh  of  ecstasy  at  his  unob 
structed  view.  "It's  Still  Jim  Manning.  His  father 
just  got  killed.  He's  boss  of  our  gang." 

"But  he's  not  the  biggest,"  said  the  stranger. 

"Naw,  he  ain't  the  biggest,  but  he  can  make  the 
fellows  mind.  He  don't  talk  much  but  what  he  says 
goes." 

"Can  he  lick  the  big  fellow?" 

"Who?  Fatty  Allen?  Bet  your  life!  Still's  built 
like  steel  wire." 

"What  did  he  start  this  fight  for?"  asked  the  man. 

"Aw,  can't  you  see  they'd  never  let  up  on  this  new 
kid  after  he  bellered  so,  unless  he  licked  Fatty  ?  Gee ! 
What  a  wallop!  That  Charlie  kid  is  going  to  lick 
whey  out  of  Fatty." 

"So  Still  is  boss?"  mused  the  stranger.  "Could  he 
stop  that  fight,  now?" 

"Sure,"  answered  the  child,  "but  he  wouldn't." 

"We'll  see,"  said  the  stranger.  He  crossed  over  to 
the  ring  of  boys  and  touched  Jim  on  the  shoulder.  "I 
want  to  speak  to  you,  Manning." 

Jim  looked  at  the  stranger  in  astonishment,  then 
answered  awkwardly,  "Can  you  wait?  I've  got  to 
referee  this  fight." 


24.  STILL    JIM 

"You  will  have  to  come  now,"  said  the  man.  "Your 
mother  said  to  come  back  at  once,  with  me." 

Jim  walked  into  the  ring,  between  the  two  combat 
ants.  "Drop  it,  fellows.  I've  got  to  go  home.  We'll 
finish  this  fight  tomorrow.  Fatty  can  tackle  me  then, 
too." 

There  were  several  protests  but  Fatty  had  had 
enough.  He  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  dive  into 
the  pond.  One  after  the  other  the  boys  ran  up  the 
springboard  until  only  Jim  and  the  stranger  were 
left.  f  The  man  walked  back  into  the  grove  and  in  a 
moment  Jim,  in  his  knickerbockers  and  blouse,  joined 
him. 

"I'm  glad  to  see  you  can  obey,  as  well  as  boss,  me 
boy,"  said  the  man.  "Your  mother  says  you  don't 
know  that  a  few  days  ago  she  advertised  in  the  N.  Y. 
Sun  for  a  position  as  housekeeper.  I  liked  the  ad  and 
came  up  to  see  her.  I'm  a  lawyer  in  New  York,  a 
widower.  I  like  your  mother.  She's  a  lady  to  the 
center  of  her.  But  when  she  told  me  she  had  a  boy 
your  age,  I  felt  dubious.  She  wanted  to  send  for  you 
but  I  insisted  on  coming  meself.  I  wanted  to  see  you 
among  boys.  Me  name  is  Michael  Dennis." 

Jim  flushed  painfully.  "I  don't  want  my  mother  to 
work  like  that.  I  can  support  her." 

"I'm  glad  that  you  feel  that  way,  me  boy.  But  on 
the  other  hand,  you're  not  old  enough  to  support  her 
the  way  she  can  support  herself  and  you,  too." 

"I'll  never  let  my  mother  support  me !"  cried  Jim. 
•      "What  can  you  do  to  prevent  it  ?"  asked  Mr.  Dennis. 
"Wouldn't  you  like  to  live  in  New  York  ?" 

Jim  hesitated.  Dennis  put  his  hand  on  Jim's  shoul 
der.  "I  like  you,  me  boy.  I  never  thought  to  want 


THE    OLD    SWIMMING    HOLE     25 

another  child  about  me  house.  Come,  we'll  talk  it 
over  with  your  mother." 

Jim  followed  into  the  cottage  sitting  room,  where 
his  mother  eyed  the  two  anxiously. 

"I  thought  something  must  have  happened/5  she 
said.  "Did  you  have  trouble  finding  the  pond?" 

Mr.  Dennis  smiled  genially.  "Not  a  bit !  I  was  just 
getting  acquainted  with  your  boy.  He's  quite  a  lad, 
Mrs.  Manning,  and  I'm  going  to  tell  you  I'll  be  glad 
to  have  him  in  me  house.  Now  I'll  just  tell  you  what 
me  house  is  like  and  what  we'll  have  to  expect  of  each 
other." 

After  an  hour's  talk  Dennis  said:  "I  will  give  you 
fifty  dollars  a  month  and  board  and  lodging  for  the 
lad." 

Mrs.  Manning  flushed  with  relief.  Jim,  who  had 
not  said  a  word  since  coming  into  the  house,  spoke 
suddenly  in  his  father's  own  drawl : 

"I  don't  want  anyone  to  give  me  my  keep.  I'll  take 
care  of  the  furnace  and  do  the  work  round  the  house 
you  pay  a  man  to  do,  and  if  that  isn't  enough  to  pay 
for  keeping  me,  I'll  work  for  you  in  your  office  Sat 
urdays." 

Mr.  Dennis  looked  at  the  tall  boy  keenly,  then  said 
whimsically,  "Well,  I  thought  you'd  been  smitten 
dumb." 

"He's  very  still,  Jim  is,  except  when  he's  fearfully 
worked  up.  All  the  Mannings  are  that  way,"  said  his 
mother. 

Mr.  Dennis  nodded.  "The  house  takes  lots  of  care. 
Your  mother  will  get  a  maid  to  help  her  and  I'll  let 
the  man  go  who  has  been  doing  janitor  service  for  me. 


26  STILL   JIM 

With  this  arrangement,  I'll  make  your  mother's  salary 
$65  a  month." 

And  so  the  decision  was  made. 

It  was  the  last  week  in  September  when  Jim  and 
his  mother  left  Exham.  The  day  before  they  left  the 
old  town,  Jim  tramped  doggedly  up  the  street  toward 
the  old  Manning  mansion.  He  had  not  been  there 
since  his  father's  death. 

When  he  reached  the  dooryard  he  stopped,  pulled 
off  his  cap  and  stood  looking  at  the  doorway  that  had 
welcomed  so  many  Mannings  and  sped  so  many  more. 
The  boy  stood,  erect  and  slender,  the  wind  ruffling  his 
thick  dark  hair  across  his  dreamer's  forehead,  his 
energetic  jaw  set  firmly.  Now  and  again  tears  blinded 
his  gray  eyes,  but  he  blinked  them  back  resolutely. 

Jim  must  have  stood  before  the  door  of  his  old 
home  for  half  an  hour,  a  silent,  lonely  young  figure 
at  whom  the  quarry  men  glanced  curiously.  When  the 
whistle  blew  five  Jim  made  an  heroic  effort  and  turned 
and  looked  at  the  derrick,  again  spliced  into  place.  He 
shuddered  but  forced  himself  to  look. 

It  was  after  sunset  when  Jim  finally  turned  away. 
It  was  many  years  before  he  came  to  this  place  again. 
Yet  Exham  had  made  its  indelible  imprint  on  the  boy. 
The  convictions  that  had  molded  his  first  fourteen 
years  were  to  mold  his  whole  life.  Somehow  he  felt 
that  his  father  had  been  a  futile  sacrifice  to  the  thing 
that  was  destroying  New  England  and  that  old  New 
England  spirit  which  he  had  been  taught  to  revere. 
What  the  thing  was  he  did  not  know.  And  yet,  with 
his  boyish  lips  trembling,  he  promised  the  old  mansion 
to  make  good  for  his  father  and  for  Exham — poor  old 
Exham,  with  its  lost  ideals! 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  BROWNSTONE  FRONT 

"Coyote,  eagle,  Indian,  I  have  seen  countless  genera 
tions  of  them  fulfill  their  destinies  and  disappear.  I 
wonder  when  my  turn  will  come." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

JIM  and  his  mother  did  not  feel  like  strangers  when 
they  reached  New  York.  Mrs.  Manning  knew 
the  city  well  and  Jim,  boy-like,  was  overjoyed  at  the 
idea  of  being  in  the  great  town. 

Mr.  Dennis'  brownstone  front  was  one  of  the  fine 
old  houses  on  West  23rd  street  that  are  fast  making 
way  for  stores.  It  was  full  of  red  Brussels  carpets 
and  walnut  furniture  of  crinkly  design.  It  had  crayon 
enlargements  of  Mrs.  Dennis  and  the  two  small  Den 
nises  in  the  parlor  and  in  the  guest  room  and  in  Mr. 
Dennis'  room.  Jim  wondered  how  Mr.  Dennis  could 
be  so  genial  when  he  had  lost  so  much. 

The  third  floor  had  two  large  rooms  opening  off  a 
big  central  room,  and  this  floor,  comfortably  furnished, 
was  for  the  use  of  Mrs.  Manning  and  Jim  and  the 
maid.  Mrs.  Manning  solved  the  maid  question  by 
sending  back  to  Exham  for  Annie  Peyton.  Annie  was 
about  forty.  Her  mother  had  been  housekeeper  for 
Mrs.  Manning's  mother  and  Annie  was  the  domestic 

27 


28  STILL   JIM 

day  worker  for  the  village.  Up  in  Exham  English 
customs  still  obtained  among  the  old  families.  Annie 
was  "Peyton"  to  Mrs.  Manning. 

Jim  guessed  from  his  own  feelings  how  her  posi 
tion  as  a  servant  hurt  his  mother.  She  herself  never 
said  anything,  but  Jim  noticed  that  she  made  no 
friends.  Mr.  Dennis  treated  her  with  a  very  real 
courtesy  and  basked  in  her  perfect  housekeeping. 

Jim  entered  school  at  once.  In  his  own  way,  he  was 
a  brilliant  student.  He  had  the  sort  of  mind  that  in 
stinctively  grasps  fundamental  principles,  and  this  fac 
ulty,  combined  with  a  certain  mental  obstinacy  and  in 
dependence,  made  him  at  once  the  pride  and  terror  of 
his  teachers.  He  was  a  very  firm  rock  on  which  to  de 
pend  for  exhibition  purposes,  but  whenever  he  asked 
questions  they  were  of  a  searching  variety  that  made 
his  teachers  long  to  box  his  ears. 

It  was  rather  a  pity  that  all  Jim's  spare  moments 
when  not  in  school  had  to  be  spent  in  janitor  service. 
He  missed  the  companionship  of  the  boys  in  the  public 
school  which,  in  America,  is  an  almost  indispensable 
part  of  a  boy's  education.  In  his  adult  life  he  must 
meet  and  understand  men  and  methods  of  every  na 
tionality.  New  York  public  schools  are  veritable  con 
gresses  of  nations  and  a  boy  who  plans  to  go  into 
business  gets  far  more  than  mere  book  learning  from 
them.  Jim's  poverty  cut  him  out  of  athletics  and  clubs 
so  that  all  his  inherent  New  England  tendency  to  men 
tal  aloofness  would  have  been  vastly  increased  if  it 
had  not  been  for  his  summer  vacations. 

The  first  day  of  his  summer  vacation,  Jim  applied 
for  a  job.  A  steel  skyscraper  was  being  erected  in 
42nd  street  and  Jim  asked  the  superintendent  of  con- 


THE    BROWNSTONE    FRONT     29 

struction  for  work.  The  superintendent  looked  at  the 
lank  lad,  who  now,  fifteen,  would  have  appeared  eigh 
teen  were  it  not  for  his  smooth,  almost  childish  face. 

"What  kind  of  work,  young  fella?"  asked  the  Boss. 

"Anything  to  start  with,"  replied  Jim,  "until  we  see 
what  I  can  do." 

"You're  as  thin  as  a  lath.  Ye  can  get  down  there 
with  Derrick  No.  2.  and  get  some  muscle  laid  on  you. 
A  dollar  fifty  a  day  is  the  best  I  can  do  for  you.  Get 
along  now." 

Jim's  brain  reeled  with  joy  at  the  size  of  his  pros 
pective  income.  He  nodded,  pulled  off  his  coat,  leav 
ing  it  in  the  superintendent's  office  and  found  his  way 
to  Derrick  No.  2. 

The  structure  was  a  big  one,  so  big  that  the  exigen 
cies  of  New  York  traffic  were  forcing  the  company 
to  build  in  sections.  A  steel  frame  nearly  eighteen 
stories  high  was  nearly  finished  at  one  edge,  while 
blasting  for  another  portion  of  the  foundation,  five 
stories  deep,  was  going  on  at  the  other  edge. 

Derrick  No.  2  was  in  the  new  foundation.  Jim's 
foreman  was  a  Greek.  His  companion,  with  whom 
he  guided  the  rock  that  the  derrick  lifted  was  a  Si 
cilian.  The  steam  drillman  whom  Jim  had  to  help 
was  a  negro.  There  were  ten  nationalities  on  the  pay 
roll  of  the  company.  Jim  had  grown  accustomed  to 
feeling  in  school  that  New  York  was  not  in  America, 
but  in  a  foreign  country.  Down  in  the  five-story  hole  in 
the  ground,  with  the  ear-shattering  batter  of  the  steam 
riveters  above  him,  the  groaning  of  the  donkey  en 
gines,  the  tear  and  screech  of  the  steam  drills  beside 
him,  with  the  never  ending  clatter  and  chatter  of 
tongues  that  he  could  not  understand  about  him,  Jim 


30  STILL    JIM 

often  got  the  sense  of  suffocation  of  which  his  father 
had  complained.  He  detested  foreigners,  anyhow. 
There  was  in  Jim  the  race  vanity  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
which  is  as  profound  as  it  is  unconscious. 

Now,  with  his  boyish  sweat  mingling  with  that  of 
these  alien  workers  on  the  great  new  structure,  Jim 
wondered  how  he  was  going  to  stand  this,  summer 
after  summer,  until  he  had  his  education.  They 
seemed  to  him  so  dirty,  so  stupid,  like  so  many  chat 
tering  monkeys.  To  get  to  know  them,  to  try  to  un 
derstand  them,  never  occurred  to  him. 

Jim  liked  the  darky,  Hank,  better  than  he  did  the 
others.  To  Hank  the  others  were  foreigners  as  they 
were  to  Jim. 

"Don't  talk  so  much.  I  can't  hear  ma  drill !"  yelled 
Hank  in  Jim's  ear  one  afternoon  when  the  din  was  at 
its  height. 

Jim  flashed  his  charming  smile.  "I  talk  English, 
anyhow,"  he  shouted  back,  "when  I  do  talk." 

"You'se  the  stillest  white  man  I  ever  see.  I'se 
callin'  you  Still  Jim  in  my  mind.  Pretty  quick  whites 
and  colored  folks  can't  get  no  jobs  no  more  in  this 
country.  Just  Bohunks  and  Wops  and  Ginnies.  Can 
you  watch  the  drill  one  minute  while  I  gits  a  drink?" 

Jim  nodded  and  glanced  up  at  the  red  spider  web 
that  was  dotted  clear  to  the  eighteenth  floor  with  black 
dots  of  workmen.  He  looked  up  at  the  street  edge  of 
the  gray  pit.  Black  heads  peered  over  the  rail,  star 
ing  idly  at  the  workmen  below.  Jim  felt  half  a  thrill 
of  pride  that  he  was  a  part  of  the  great  work  at  which 
they  gazed,  half  a  hot  sense  of  resentment  that  they 
stared  so  stupidly  at  his  discomfort. 

Far  above  gray  stone  and  red  ironwork  was  the 


THE    BROWNSTONE    FRONT     31 

deep  blue  of  the  summer  sky.  Jim  wondered  if  the 
kids  in  the  old  swimming  hole  missed  him.  He  wished 
he  could  lie  on  his  back  and  talk  to  Phil  Chadwick 
again.  As  he  stared  wistfully  upward,  a  girder  on  the 
1 8th  floor  twisted  suddenly  and  swept  across  a  tem 
porary  floor,  brushing  men  off  like  crumbs.  Jim  saw 
three  men  go  hurtling  and  bounding  down,  down  to 
the  street.  He  could  not  hear  them  scream  above  the 
din.  He  felt  sick  at  his  stomach  and  lifted  his  hand 
from  the  drill,  expecting  the  steam  to  be  shut  off.  But 
it  was  not. 

Hank  came  back,  the  whites  of  his  eyes  showing  a 
little.  "Killed  three.  All  Wops,"  he  said.  "Morgue 
gets  a  man  a  day  outa  this  place.  They  just  sticks  'em 
outside  the  board  fence  and  a  policeman  sends  fer  a 
ambulance.  The  blood  on  these  here  New  York 
buildings  sure  oughta  hoo-doo  'em.  There,  you  Still 
Jim,  you  get  a  drink  o'  water.  You  look  white.  The 
iron  workers  quit  fer  the  day.  They  always  does 
when  a  man  gits  killed." 

That  evening  Jim  did  an  errand  to  the  tobacco  shop 
for  Mr.  Dennis.  On  his  return  to  the  library  with 
the  cigars,  Dennis  looked  at  the  boy  affectionately. 
Jim  interested  him.  His  faithfulness  to  his  mother, 
his  quiet  ways,  his  unboyish  life,  touched  the  Irish 
man. 

"You  look  a  little  peaked  round  the  gills,  Still  Jim. 
Better  cut  this  work  you're  doing  and  come  to  me 
office.  I  can't  pay  you  so  much  but  I'll  make  a  lawyer 
of  you." 

Jim  shook  his  head.  "The  work  is  good  for  me. 
The  gym  teacher  said  I  was  growing  too  fast  and  to 
stay  outdoors  all  summer." 


32  STILL    JIM 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  then?"  insisted 
Dennis. 

"I  saw  three  men  killed  just  before  quitting  time," 
said  the  boy.  Then  suddenly  his  face  flushed.  "Some 
times  I  hate  it  here  in  New  York.  Seems  as  if  I  can't 
stand  it.  They  don't  care  anything  about  human  be 
ings.  I  can't  think  of  New  York  as  anything  but  a 
can  full  of  angle  worms,  all  of  them  crawling  over 
each  other  to  get  to  the  top." 

"Sit  down,  me  boy,"  said  Dennis.  "If  little  Mike 
had  lived,  he'd  have  been  just  your  age,  Still  Jim.  I 
don't  like  to  think  of  you  as  having  so  little  of  a  boy's 
life.  Jim,  take  the  summer  off  and  I'll  take  you  to 
the  seashore." 

Jim  smiled  a  little  uncertainly.  "I  can't  leave 
mama,  and  the  money  I'll  get  this  summer  will  buy 
my  clothes  for  a  year  and  something  for  me  to  put 
in  the  bank.  I'm  all  right.  It's  just  that  since — since 

you  know  I  saw  Dad "  and  to  his  utter  shame  Jim 

began  to  sob.  He  dropped  his  head  on  his  arm  and 
Dennis'  florid  face  became  more  deeply  red  as  he 
looked  at  the  long  thin  body  and  the  beautiful  brown 
head  shaken  by  sobs. 

"Good  God,  Jimmy,  don't!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why, 
you're  all  shot  to  pieces,  lad.  Hold  on  now,  I'll  tell 
you  a  funny  story.  No,  I  won't  either.  I'll  tell  you 
something  to  take  up  your  mind.  Still,  do  you  think 
your  mother  would  marry  me  ?" 

This  had  the  desired  effect.  Jim  jumped  to  his  feet, 
forgetting  even  to  wipe  the  tears  from  his  cheeks. 

"She  certainly  would  not!"  he  cried.  "I  wouldn't 
let  her.  Has  she  said  she  would?" 

"I  haven't  asked  her,"  replied  Mr.  Dennis  meekly. 


THE    BROWNSTONE    FRONT     33 

"I  wanted  to  talk  to  you  about  it  first.  Much  as  I 
think  of  her,  Jim,  I  wouldn't  marry  her  if  you  ob 
jected.  You've  been  through  too  much  for  a  kid." 

Jim  eyed  Mr.  Dennis  intently.  The  Irishman  was 
a  pleasant,  intelligent-looking  man. 

"I  like  you  now,"  said  the  boy,  his  voice  catching 
from  his  heavy  sobbing,  "but  I'd  hate  you  if  you  tried 
to  take  my  father's  place.  Anyway,  I  don't  think 
mama  would  even  listen  to  you.  What  makes  you 
want  to  get  married  again,  Mr.  Dennis,  after — after 
that?" 

Jim  looked  toward  the  crayon  enlargement  above 
the  mantel. 

Dennis  answered  quickly.  "Don't  think  for  a  min 
ute  I'd  try  to  put  anyone  in  her  place."  He  nodded 
toward  the  sweet- faced  woman  who  was  looking  down 
at  them.  "And  I  wouldn't  expect  to  take  your  father's 
place.  I  guess  your  mother  and  I  both  know  we  gave 
and  got  the  best  in  life,  once,  and  it  only  comes  once. 
Only  it's  this  way,  Still  Jim,  me  boy.  When  people 
pass  middle  age  and  look  forward  to  old  age,  they  see 
it  lonely,  desperately  lonely,  and  they  want  company 
to  help  them  go  through  it.  I  admire  and  respect  your 
mother  and  I  think  as  much  of  you  as  if  you  were  me 
own.  But  you'll  be  going  off  soon  to  make  your  own 
way.  Then  your  mother  and  I  could  look  out  for  each 
other.  I  leave  the  decision  to  you,  me  boy." 

"I  can't  stand  thinking  of  anybody  in  my  father's 
place,"  repeated  Jim  huskily.  "I'm — I'm  going  out 
for  a  walk."  And  he  rushed  out  of  the  house  and 
started  north  toward  42nd  street,  his  mind  a  blur  of 
protest. 

The  same  instinct  that  sends  the  workman  back  to 


34  STILL   JIM 

look  at  the  shop  on  his  Sunday  afternoon  stroll,  urged 
Jim  up  to  the  new  skyscraper.  The  night  watchman 
was  for  driving  the  lank  boy  away  until  Jim  explained 
that  he  worked  in  the  foundation,  and  was  just  back  to 
see  how  it  looked  at  night. 

"If  you  want  to  see  a  grand  sight,"  said  the  old  man, 
"get  you  up  to  the  top  floor  and  look  out  at  the  city. 
Take  the  tile  elevator  at  the  back.  Tell  the  man 
Morrissy  sent  ye." 

The  work  in  the  foundation  was  going  on  but  not 
on  the  steel  structure.  No  one  heeded  Jim.  He 
reached  the  iSth  floor,  where  there  was  a  narrow  tem 
porary  flooring.  Jim  sat  down  on  a  coil  of  rope.  The 
boy  was  badly  shaken. 

No  one,  unless  for  the  first  time  tonight,  Mr.  Den 
nis,  realized  how  hard  a  nerve  shock  Jim  had  had  in 
seeing  his  father  killed.  He  had  kept  from  his  mother 
the  horror  of  the  nights  that  followed  the  tragedy. 
She  did  not  know  that  periodically,  even  now,  he 
dreamed  the  August  fields  and  the  dying  men  and  the 
bloody  derrick  over  again.  She  did  not  know  what 
utter  courage  it  had  taken  to  join  the  derrick  gang, 
not  for  fear  for  his  own  safety,  but  because  of  the 
dread  association  in  his  own  mind. 

At  first,  the  sense  of  height  made  Jim  quiver.  To 
master  this  he  fixed  his  mind  on  the  details  of  struc 
ture  underneath.  Line  on  line  the  delicate  tracery  of 
steel  waiting  for  its  concrete  sheathing  was  silhou 
etted  below  him.  The  night  wind  rushed  past  and  he 
braced  himself  automatically,  noting  at  the  same  time 
how  the  vibration  of  the  steel  cobweb  was  like  a  mar 
velous  faint  tune.  The  wonder  of  conception  and 
workmanship  caught  the  boy's  imagination. 


THE    BROWNSTONE    FRONT     35 

"That's  what  I'll  do,"  he  said  aloud.  "I'll  build 
steel  buildings  like  this.  In  college,  that's  what  I'll 
study,  reinforced  concrete  building.  I've  got  to  find 
a  profession  that'll  give  me  a  bigger  chance  than  poor 
Dad  had,  so  I  can  marry  young  and  have  lots  and  gob- 
lots  of  kids." 

The  wind  increased  and  Jim  slid  off  the  coil  of  rope 
and  lay  flat  on  his  back,  looking  up  at  the  sky.  It  was 
full  of  stars  and  scudding  clouds.  Jim  missed  the  sky 
in  New  York.  He  lay  staring,  sailing  with  the  clouds 
while  his  boyish  heart  glowed  with  the  stars. 

"I'm  not  in  New  York,"  he  thought.  "I'm — I'm 
out  in  the  desert  country.  There  isn't  any  noise. 
There  aren't  any  people.  I'm  an  engineer  and  I'm 
building  a  bridge  across  a  canyon  where  no  one  but 
the  birds  have  ever  crossed  before.  I'm  making  a 
place  for  people  to  come  after  me.  I'm  discovering 
new  land  for  them  and  fixing  it  so  they  can  come." 

For  half  an  hour  Jim  lay  and  dreamed.  He  often 
had  wondered  what  he  was  going  to  be  as  a  man.  He 
had  planned  to  be  many  things,  from  a  milkman  to  an 
Indian  fighter.  But  since  his  father's  death  and  in 
deed  for  some  time  before,  his  mind  had  taken  a  bent 
suggested  by  Mr.  Manning's  melancholy.  What  was 
the  matter  with  Exham  and  the  Mannings?  Why  had 
his  father  failed?  What  could  he  do  to  make  up  for 
the  failure?  These  thoughts  had  colored  the  boy's 
dreams.  No  one  can  measure  the  importance  to  a 
child  of  taking  his  air  castles  away  from  him.  Tragedy 
scars  a  child  permanently.  Grown  people  often  forget 
a  heavy  loss. 

But  tonight,  inspired  by  the  wonder  of  the  building 
and  the  heavens,  Jim's  mind  slipped  its  leashings  and 


36  STILL   JIM 

took  its  racial  bent.  Suddenly  he  was  a  maker  of 
trails,  a  builder  in  the  wilderness.  He  completed  the 
bridge  and  then  sat  up  with  an  articulate,  "Gee  whiz ! 
I  know  what  I'm  going  to  be!" 

It  seemed  a  matter  of  tremendous  importance  to 
the  boy.  He  sat  with  clenched  fists  and  burning 
cheeks,  sensing  for  the  first  time  one  of  the  highest 
types  of  joy  that  comes  to  human  beings,  that  of  find 
ing  one's  predilection  in  the  work  by  which  one  earns 
one's  daily  bread.  The  sense  of  clean-cut  aim  to  his 
life  was  like  balm  and  tonic  to  the  boy's  nerves.  Some 
thing  deeper  than  a  New  York  or  a  New  England 
influence  was  speaking  in  Jim  now.  For  the  first  time, 
his  Anglo-Saxon  race,  his  race  of  empire  builders,  was 
finding  its  voice  in  him. 

Jim  rode  gaily  down  the  tile  elevator,  his  flashing 
smile  getting  a  vivid  response  from  the  Armenian  ele 
vator  boy.  He  ran  a  good  part  of  the  way  home  and 
burst  into  the  house  with  a  slam,  utterly  unlike  his 
usual  quiet,  unboyish  steadiness.  He  was  dashing 
past  the  library  door  on  his  way  upstairs  to  his 
mother,  when  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  sitting  near 
the  library  table  with  Mr.  Dennis.  He  forgot  to  be 
astonished  at  her  unwonted  presence  there.  He  ran 
into  the  room. 

"Mama!"  he  cried.  "Mama!  I'm  going  to  be  an 
engineer  and  go  out  west  and  build  railroads  and 
bridges  out  where  its  wild!  Aren't  you  glad?" 

Mr.  Dennis  and  Mrs.  Manning  stared  in  astonish 
ment  at  Jim's  loquacity  and  at  the  glow  of  his  face. 
His  gray  eyes  were  brilliant.  His  thick  hair  was  wind- 
tossed  across  his  forehead.  Mr.  Dennis,  being  Irish, 


THE    BROWNSTONE    FRONT     37 

understood.  He  rose,  shook  hands  with  Jim,  his  left 
hand  patting  the  boy's  shoulder. 

"You're  made  for  it,  Still  Jim,  me  boy,"  he  said, 
soberly.  "You've  the  engineer's  mind.  How'd  you 
come  to  think  of  it?" 

"Up  on  top  of  the  skyscraper,"  replied  Jim  lucidly. 
"Don't  you  see,  Mama?  Isn't  it  great?" 

Mrs.  Manning  was  trying  to  smile,  but  her  lips 
trembled.  She  was  wishing  Jim's  father  could  see  him 
now.  "I  don't  understand,  Jimmy.  But  if  you  like  it, 
I  must.  But  what  shall  I  do  with  you  out  west?" 

Jim  gasped,  whitened,  then  looked  at  Mr.  Dennis 
and  began  to  turn  red. 


CHAPTER  IV 

JIM  FINDS  SARA  AND  PEN 

"Since  time  began  Indians  have  climbed  my  back  and 
have  cried  their  joys  and  sorrows  to  the  sky.  I  wonder 
who  has  heard!" 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

MR.  DENNIS  laughed.  He  still  was  holding 
Jim's  hand.  "May  I  ask  her?"  he  said  to 
Jim. 

Jim  nodded,  though  his  eyes  were  startled.  Sud 
denly  Mr.  Dennis  dropped  Jim's  hand  and  threw  his 
arm  across  the  boy's  shoulders.  The  two  stood  facing 
Mrs.  Manning. 

"Mrs.  Manning,"  began  the  Irishman,  "I  think  you 
feel  that  I  admire  and  respect  you.  I  am  a  lonely  man. 
I  asked  Jim  if  I  could  ask  you  to  marry  me,  earlier  in 
the  evening.  He  said,  No!  No  one  should  take  his 
father's  place.  I  told  him  you  and  I  had  lived  through 
too  much  to  dream  of  falling  in  love  again,  but  that 
old  age  was  a  lonely  thing.  I  need  you  and  when  Jim 
finishes  school  and  goes,  you'll  need  me,  Mrs.  Man 
ning.  I  can  send  Jim  through  college  and  give  him  a 
right  start.  Will  you  marry  me,  say  in  a  day  or  two, 
without  any  fuss,  Mrs.  Manning?" 

The  little  widow's  face  was  flushed.    "What  made 

38 


JIM  FINDS   SARA   AND    PEN    39 

you  change,  Jim?"  she  exclaimed.  "I  couldn't  love 
anyone  but  your  father." 

Jim  nodded.  "I  didn't  realize  then  that  my  work 
would  take  me  away  from  you.  You  know  a  man's 
job  is  very  important,  Mama.  I  want  to  get  someone 
to  take  care  of  you  while  I  build  bridges,  for  I've  got 
to  build  them.  I  can  send  you  money  but  I  want  a 
man  to  be  looking  out  for  you." 

Mr.  Dennis'  eyes  twinkled  but  he  waited. 

"It's  only  a  year  since  your  father  died.  I  never 
could  care  for  anyone  else,"  said  Mrs.  Manning. 

"It's  ten  years  since  Mrs.  Dennis  and  the  babies 
died,"  said  Dennis.  "I  never  could  love  anyone  as  I 
did  the  three  of  them.  But  you  and  I  suit  each  other 
comfortably,  Mrs.  Manning.  We'd  be  a  great  com 
fort  to  each  other  and  we  can  do  some  good  things  for 
Still  Jim.  You  must  try  to  give  him  his  chance.  It's 
a  sad  boyhood  he's  having,  Mrs.  Manning.  Let's  give 
him  the  chance  he  can't  have  unless  you  marry  me." 

Mrs.  Manning  looked  at  Jim.  His  face  still  was 
eager  but  there  were  dark  rings  around  his  eyes  that 
came  from  nerve  strain.  He  was  too  thin  and  she  saw 
for  the  first  time  that  his  shoulders  were  rounding. 
Mr.  Dennis  followed  up  his  advantage. 

"Look  at  his  hands,  Mrs.  Manning.  Hard  work 
has  knocked  them  up  too  much  for  his  age.  He 
should  have  his  chance  to  play  if  he's  to  do  good  body 
and  brain  work  later.  Let's  give  his  father's  son  a 
chance!  Don't  you  think  his  father  would  approve?" 

"Oh,  but  I'm  going  to  keep  on  working  and  support 
ing  myself!"  cried  Jim.  "I  just  wanted  you  to  look 
out  for  Mama." 

"Well,  I  guess  not!"  cried  Mrs.   Manning,  vehe- 


40  STILL   JIM 

mently.  "You'll  come  straight  out  of  that  foundation 
tomorrow.  You  are  going  to  have  your  chance.  Oh, 
Jim  dear!  I  hadn't  realized  how  little  happiness 
you've  been  having!" 

Jim  shook  his  head.     "I  can  support  myself." 

Mrs.  Manning  sniffed.  "How  can  you  be  a  good 
engineer  out  in  that  awful  rough  country  unless  you 
have  the  best  kind  of  a  physical  foundation?  Use 
sense,  Jimmy." 

This  was  a  master  stroke.  Jim  wavered,  then 
caught  his  left  ankle  in  his  hand  and  hopped  about 
like  a  happy  frog. 

"Gee  whiz !"  he  cried.  "I'll  enter  the  try-out  squad 
the  first  thing.  I  bet  I  can  make  school  quarter  back." 

Mr.  Dennis  cut  in  neatly.  "It  might  just  as  well 
take  place  tomorrow  and  the  three  of  us  can  take  a 
month  at  the  seashore.  I'll  bet  Jim  has  sighed  for 
the  old  swimming  hole  lately." 

The  little  widow  looked  at  Mr.  Dennis  long  and 
keenly,  then  she  rose  and  held  out  her  hand  while  she 
said  very  deliberately: 

"You  are  a  good  man,  Michael  Dennis.  I  thank 
you  for  me  and  mine  and  I'll  be  a  comfort  to  you  as 
you  are  being  to  me.  I'm  not  going  to  pretend  I'd  do 
this  if  it  wasn't  for  Jim.  I  can't  love  you,  but  you 
love  Jim  and  that's  enough  for  me." 

And  so  Jim  was  given  his  chance. 

He  spent  the  rest  of  the  summer  at  the  shore  and 
entered  school  in  the  fall  with  a  new  interest.  With 
the  unexpected  lift  of  the  money  burden  from  his 
shoulders,  Jim  began  to  make  up  for  his  lost  play. 
Football  and  track  work,  debating  societies  and  glee- 
clubs  straightened  his  round  shoulders  and  found  him 


JIM   FINDS   SARA   AND   PEN    41 

friends.  Most  important  of  all,  he  ceased  to  brood 
for  a  time  over  his  Exham  problems. 

Jim's  stepfather,  whom  the  boy  called  Uncle  Denny, 
took  a  pride  and  interest  in  the  boy  that  sometimes 
brought  the  tears  to  his  mother's  eyes.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  the  warm-hearted  Irishman  gave  to  Jim  all 
the  love  that  the  death  of  his  family  had  left  unsat 
isfied.  And  Jim,  in  his  undemonstrative  way,  returned 
Mr.  Dennis'  affection.  He  shared  with  his  Uncle 
Denny  his  growing  ideals  on  engineering.  He  re 
hearsed  his  debating  society  speeches  on  his  Uncle 
Denny,  who  endured  them  with  enthusiasm.  He  and 
his  Uncle  Denny  worked  out  some  marvelous  football 
tactics  when  Jim  as  a  senior  in  the  high  school  be 
came  captain  of  the  school  team.  Often  of  an  evening 
Jim's  mother  would  come  upon  the  two  in  the  library, 
flat  on  their  backs  before  the  grate  in  a  companionship 
that  needed  and  found  no  words. 

At  such  times  she  would  say,  "Michael,  you  didn't 
marry  me.  You  married  Jim." 

And  Dennis  would  look  up  at  her  with  a  smile  of 
understanding  that  she  returned. 

When  Jim  was  a  freshman  in  Columbia,  he  ac 
quired  a  chum.  It  was  not  a  chum  who  took  the  place 
of  Phil  Chadwick.  Nothing  in  after  life  ever  fills 
the  hollow  left  by  the  first  friendship  of  childhood  and 
Phil  was  hallowed  in  Jim's  memory  along  with  all  the 
beauties  of  the  swimming  hole  and  the  quiet  elms 
around  the  old  Exham  mansions. 

But  Jim's  new  chum  gave  him  his  first  opportunity 
at  hero-worship,  which  -is  an  essential  step  in  a  boy's 
growth.  The  young  man's  name  was  George  Sara- 
dokis.  His  mates  called  him  Sara.  His  mother  was 


42  STILL   JIM 

a  Franco-American,  his  father  was  a  Greek,  a  real 
estate  man  in  the  Greek  section  of  New  York.  Sara 
confided  to  Jim,  early  in  their  acquaintance,  that  his 
father  was  the  disinherited  son  of  a  nobleman  and 
that  he,  the  grandson,  would  be  his  grandfather's  heir. 
The  glamour  of  this  possible  inheritance  did  not  de 
tract  at  all  from  the  romance  of  the  new  friendship 
in  Jim's  credulous  young  eyes. 

Sara  was  halfback  on  the  freshman  football  team, 
while  Jim  played  quarterback.  The  two  were  of  a 
height,  six  feet,  but  Jim  still  was  slender.  Sara  was 
broad  and  heavy.  He  was  very  Greek — that  is,  mod 
ern  Greek,  which  has  little  racially  or  temperamentally 
in  common  with  the  ancient  Greek.  He  was  a  bril 
liant  student,  yet  of  a  commerciality  of  mind  that 
equalled  that  of  any  Jewish  student  in  the  class. 

Both  the  boys  were  good  trackmen.  Both  were 
good  students.  Both  were  planning  to  be  engineers. 
But,  temperamentally,  they  were  as  far  apart  as  the 
two  countries  whence  came  their  father's  stock. 

Uncle  Denny  did  not  approve  fully  of  Saradokis, 
but  finally  he  decided  that  it  was  good  for  Jim  to 
overcome  some  of  his  New  England  prejudice  against 
the  immigrant  class  and  he  encouraged  the  young 
Greek  to  come  to  the  house. 

It  was  when  Jim  was  a  freshman,  too,  that  Penelope 
came  from  Colorado  to  live  with  her  Uncle  Denny. 
Her  father,  Uncle  Denny's  brother,  had  married  a 
little  Scotch  girl  and  they  had  made  a  bare  living 
from  a  small  mine,  up  in  the  mountains,  until  a  fatal 
attack  of  pneumonia  claimed  them  both  in  a  single 
month.  Penelope  stayed  on  at  a  girl's  school  in  Den 
ver  for  a  year.  Then,  Jim's  mother  urging  it,  Mr. 


JIM   FINDS   SARA   AND   PEN     43 

Dennis  sent  for  her.  Jim,  absorbed  in  the  intricate 
business  of  being  a  freshman,  did  not  give  much  heed 
to  the  preparations  for  her  coming. 

One  spring  evening  he  sauntered  into  the  library  to 
wait  for  the  dinner  bell.  As  he  strolled  over  to  the 
fireplace,  he  saw  a  slender  young  girl  sitting  in  the 
Morris  chair. 

"Oh,  hello!"  said  Jim. 

"Hello !"  said  the  young  girl,  rising. 

The  two  calmly  eyed  each  other.  Jim  saw  a  grace 
ful  girl,  three  or  four  years  younger  than  himself, 
with  a  great  braid  of  chestnut  hair  hanging  over  one 
shoulder.  She  had  a  round  face  that  ended  in  a  point 
ed  chin,  a  generous  mouth,  a  straight  little  nose  and 
a  rich  glow  of  color  in  her  cheeks.  These  details  Jim 
noted  only  casually,  for  his  attention  was  focused  al 
most  immediately  on  her  eyes.  For  years  after, 
whenever  Jim  thought  of  Penelope,  he  thought  of  a 
halo  of  chestnut  hair  about  eyes  of  a  deep  hazel;  eyes 
that  were  large,  almost  too  large,  for  the  little  round 
face ;  eyes  that  were  steady  and  clear  and  black  some 
times  with  feeling  or  with  a  fleeting  shadow  of  mel 
ancholy  that  did  not  belong  to  her  happy  youth. 

Penelope  saw  a  tall  lad  in  a  carefully  dressed  Nor 
folk  suit.  He  had  a  long,  thin,  tanned  face,  with  a 
thick  mop  of  soft  hair  falling  across  his  forehead, 
a  clear  gaze  and  a  flashing,  wistful,  fascinatingly 
sweet  smile  as  he  repeated : 

"Hello,  Penelope!" 

"Hello,  Still  Jim!"  replied  the  girl,  while  her  round 
cheeks  showed  dimples  that  for  a  moment  made  Jim 
forget  her  eyes. 

"Uncle  Denny's  been  busy,  I  see,"  said  Jim. 


44  STILL   JIM 

Then  he  was  speechless.  He  had  not  reached  the 
"girl  stage"  as  yet.  Penelope  was  not  disturbed.  She 
continued  to  look  Jim  over,  almost  unblinkingly. 
Then  Jim,  to  his  own  astonishment,  suddenly  found 
his  tongue. 

"I'm  glad  you've  come,"  he  said  abruptly.  "I'm 
going  to  think  a  lot  of  you,  I  can  see  that." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  Penelope  slipped  her  slen 
der  fingers  into  his  hard  young  fists.  Jim  did  not  let 
the  little  hand  go  for  a  minute.  The  two  looked  at 
each  other  clearly. 

"I'm  glad  I'm  here,"  said  Penelope.  Then  she  dim 
pled.  "And  I'm  glad  you're  nice,  because  Uncle  Denny 
told  me  that  if  I  didn't  like  you  I'd  show  myself  no 
judge  of  boys.  When  I  giggled,  I  know  he  wanted  to 
slap  me." 

Jim's  smile  flashed  and  Penelope  wondered  what 
she  liked  best  about  it,  his  white  teeth,  his  merriness 
or  his  wistfulness. 

"There's  the  dinner  bell!"  exclaimed  Jim.  "As 
Uncle  Denny  says,  I'm  so  hungry  me  soul  is  hanging 
by  a  string.  Come  on,  Penelope." 

Penelope  entered  Jim's  life  as  simply  and  as  easily 
as  Saradokis  did. 

Sara  charmed  both  Jim  and  Penelope.  His  physical 
beauty  alone  was  a  thing  to  fascinate  far  harsher  crit 
ics  than  these  two  who  grew  to  be  his  special  friends. 
His  hair  was  tawny  and  thick  and  wavy.  His  eyes 
were  black  and  bright.  His  mouth  was  small  and 
perfectly  cut.  His  cleft  chin  was  square  and  so  was 
his  powerful  jaw.  He  carried  himself  like  an  Indian 
and  his  strength  was  like  that  of  the  lover  in  Solo 
mon's  song. 

tu 


JIM   FINDS   SARA   AND   PEN     45 

Added  to  this  was  the  romance  of  his  grandfather. 
This  story  enthralled  little  Pen,  who  at  fourteen  was 
almost  bowled  over  by  the  thought  that  some  day 
Sara  might  be  a  duke. 

Sara's  keen  mind,  his  commercial  cleverness  had  a 
strong  hold  on  Jim,  who  lacked  the  money-making 
instinct.  Jim  quoted  Sara  a  good  deal  at  first  to  Uncle 
Denny,  whose  usual  comment  was  a  grunt. 

"Sara  says  it's  a  commercial  age.  If  you  don't  get 
out  and  rustle  money  you  might  as  well  get  off  the 
earth." 

A  grunt  from  Uncle  Denny. 

"Well,  but  Uncle  Denny,  you  can't  deny  he's  right." 

The  Irishman's  reply  was  indirect.  "Remember, 
me  boy,  that  the  chief  valu^e  of  a  college  education  is 
to  set  your  standards,  to  make  your  ideals.  These 
four  years  are  the  high-water  mark  of  your  life's 
idealism.  You  never'll  get  higher.  Anything  else  you 
are  taught  in  college  you'll  have  to  learn  over  another 
way  after  you  get  out  to  buck  real  life." 

Jim  thought  this  over  for  a  time,  then  he  said :  "Do 
you  ever  talk  to  Pen  like  you  do  to  me?  It  would  do 
her  good." 

Uncle  Denny  sniffed.  "Don't  you  worry  about 
Pen's  ideas.  She's  got  the  best  mind  I  ever  found  in 
a  girl.  When  she  gets  past  the  giggling  age,  you'll 
learn  a  few  things  from  her,  me  boy." 

Penelope  chummed  with  the  two  boys  impartially 
as  far  as  Dennis  or  Jim's  mother  c6uld  perceive.  The 
girl  with  her  common  sense  and  her  foolishness  and 
her  youthfulness  was  an  inexpressible  joy  to  Jim's 
mother,  who  always  had  longed  for  a  daughter.  She 
had  dreams  about  Jim  and  Pen  that  she  confided  to 


46  STILL   JIM 

no  one  and  she  looked  on  Penelope's  impartiality  with 
a  jealous  eye. 

Until  Pen  was  sixteen  the  boys  were  content  to 
share  her  equally.  They  were  finishing  their  junior 
year  when  Pen's  sixteenth  birthday  arrived.  It  fell 
on  a  Saturday,  and  Jim  and  Sara  cut  Saturday  morn 
ing  classes  and  invited  Penelope  to  a  day  at  Coney 
Island.  Uncle  Denny  and  Jim's  mother  were  to  meet 
the  trio  for  supper  and  return  with  them. 

It  was  a  June  morning  fit  to  commemorate,  Sara 
said,  even  Pen's  birthday.  The  three,  carrying  their 
bathing  suits,  caught  the  8  o'clock  boat  at  i29th  street, 
prepared  to  do  the  weather  and  the  occasion  full  jus 
tice.  The  crowd  was  not  great  on  this  early  boat  un 
til  the  Battery  was  reached.  Then  all  the  world 
rushed  up  the  gang  plank;  Jew  and  Gentile  crowded 
for  the  best  places.  Italian  women,  with  babies, 
dragged  after  husbands  with  lunch  baskets.  Stout 
Irish  matrons  looked  with  scorn  on  the  "foreigners" 
and  did  great  devastation  in  claiming  camp  stools. 
Very  young  Jewish  girls  and  boys  were  the  most  con 
spicuous  element  in  the  crowd,  but  there  were  groups 
of  gentle  Armenians,  of  Syrians,  of  Chinese  and 
parties  of  tourists  with  field  glasses  and  cameras. 

"And  every  one  of  them  claims  to  be  an  American," 
said  Jim. 

Penelope  nudged  Sara.  "Look  at  Jim's  New  Eng 
land  nose,"  she  chuckled.  "I  don't  see  how  he  can  see 
anything  but  the  sky." 

Jim  did  not  heed  Pen's  remarks.  Pen  and  Sara 
laughed.  They  were  thrilled  by  the  very  cosmopolitan 
aspect  of  the  crowd.  They  responded  to  a  sense  of 
world  citizenship  to  which  Jim  was  an  utter  alien. 


JIM   FINDS   SARA   AND   PEN     47 

"Make  'em  a  speech,  Jim!"  cried  Sara,  as  the  boat 
got  under  way  again.  "Make  the  eagle  scream.  It's  a 
bully  place  for  a  speech.  The  poor  devils  can't  get 
away  from  you." 

Jim  grinned.  Pen,  her  eyes  twinkling,  joined  in 
with  Sara.  "He's  too  lazy.  He's  a  typical  American. 
He'll  roast  the  immigrants  but  he  won't  do  anything. 
It's  a  dare,  Jim." 

Sara  shouted,  "It's  a  dare,  Still!  Go  to  it!  Pen 
and  I  dare  you  to  make  the  boat  a  speech." 

Jim  was  still  smiling  but  his  eyes  narrowed.  The 
old  boyhood  code  still  held  in  college.  The  "taker" 
of  a  dare  was  no  sportsman.  And  there  was  some 
thing  deeper  than  this  that  suddenly  spoke;  the  de 
sire  of  his  race  to  force  his  ideas  on  others,  the  same 
desire  that  had  made  his  father  talk  to  the  men  in 
the  quarry  at  Exham.  With  a  sudden  swing  of  his 
long  legs  he  mounted  a  pile  of  camp  chairs  and  bal 
anced  himself  with  a  hand  on  Sara's  shoulder. 

"Shut  up!"  he  shouted.  "Everybody  shut  up  and 
listen  to  me !" 

It  was  the  old  dominating  note.  Those  of  the  crowd 
that  heard  his  voice  turned  to  look.  It  was  a  vivid 
group  they  saw ;  the  tall  boy,  with  thin,  eager  face,  fine 
gray  eyes  and  a  flashing  wistful  smile  that  caught  the 
heart,  and  with  a  steadying  arm  thrown  round  Jim's 
thighs,  the  Greek  lad,  with  his  uncovered  hair  liquid 
gold  in  the  June  sun,  his  beautiful  brown  face  flushed 
and  laughing,  while  crowded  close  to  Sara  was  the 
pink-cheeked  girl,  her  face  upturned  to  look  at  Jim. 

"Hey!  Everybody!  Keep  still  and  listen  to  me!" 
repeated  Jim. 


48  STILL   JIM 

In  the  hush  that  came,  the  chatter  in  the  cabin  below 
and  the  rear  deck  sounded  remote. 

"I've  been  appointed  a  committee  of  one  to  welcome 
you  to  America!"  cried  Jim.  "Welcome  to  our  land. 
And  when  you  get  tired  of  New  York,  remember  that 
it's  not  in  America.  America  lies  beyond  the  Hudson. 
Enjoy  yourselves.  Take  everything  that  isn't  nailed 
down." 

"Who  gave  the  country  to  you,  kid?"  asked  a  voice 
in  the  crowd. 

"My  ancestors  who,  three  hundred  years  ago,  stole 
it  from  the  Indians,"  answered  Jim  with  a  smile. 

A  roar  of  laughter  greeted  this.  "How'd  you  man 
age  to  keep  it  so  long  ?"  asked  someone  else. 

"Because  you  folks  hadn't  heard  of  it,"  replied  the 
boy. 

Another  roar  of  laughter  and  someone  else  called, 
"Good  speech.  Take  up  a  collection  for  the  young 
fellow  to  get  his  hair  cut  with." 

Jim  tossed  the  hair  out  of  his  eyes  and  gravely 
pointed  back  to  the  marvelous  outline  of  the  statue  of 
Liberty,  black  against  the  sky.  "Take  a  collection  and 
drink  hope  to  that,  my  friends.  It  is  the  most  mag 
nificent  experiment  in  the  world's  history,  and  you 
have  taken  it  out  of  our  hands." 

There  was  a  sudden  hush,  followed  by  hand  clap 
ping,  during  which  Jim  slipped  down.  Sara  gave  him 
a  bear  hug.  "Oh,  Still  Jim,  you're  the  light  of  my 
weary  eyes!  Did  he  call  our  bluff,  Pen,  huh?" 

There  was  something  more  than  laughter  in  Pen's 
eyes  as  she  replied: 

"I'm  never  sure  whether  Still  was  cut  out  to  be  an 
auctioneer  or  a  politician." 


JIM  FINDS   SARA   AND   PEN     49 

"Gosh!"  exclaimed  Jim,  "let's  get  some  ginger  ale." 

The  day  rushed  on  as  if  in  a  wild  endeavor  to  keep 
up  with  the  June  wind  which  beat  up  and  down  the 
ocean  and  across  Coney  Island,  urging  the  trio  on  to 
its  maddest.  They  shot  the  chutes  until,  maudlin  with 
laughter,  they  took  to  a  merry-go-round.  When  they 
were  ill  from  whirling,  Sara  led  the  way  to  the  buck 
ing  staircase.  This  was  a  style  of  several  steps  ar 
ranged  to  buck  at  unexpected  intervals.  The  move 
ment  so  befuddled  the  climber  that  he  consistently  took 
a  step  backward  for  every  step  forward  until  at  last, 
goaded  by  the  huge  laughter  of  the  watching  crowd, 
he  fairly  fell  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  staircase. 

It  was  before  this  seductive  phenomenon  that  the 
three  paused.  The  crowd  was  breathlessly  watching 
the  struggles  of  a  very  fat,  very  red-headed  woman 
who  chewed  gum  in  exact  rhythm  with  the  bucking  of 
the  staircase,  while  she  firmly  marked  time  on  the  top 
of  the  stairs. 

Sara  gave  a  chuckle  and,  closely  followed  by  Jim 
and  Pen,  he  mounted  the  stile.  He  was  balked  by  the 
red-headed  woman  who  towered  high  above  him.  Sara 
reached  up  and  touched  her  broad  back. 

"Walk  right  ahead,  madam,"  he  urged.  "You're 
holding  us  back." 

The  fat  woman  obediently  took  a  wild  step  forward, 
the  stair  bucked  and  she  stepped  firmly  backward  and 
sat  down  violently  on  Sara's  head.  Pen  and  Jim 
roared  with  the  crowd.  The  red-headed  woman 
scrambled  to  the  topmost  stair  again,  then  turned  and 
shook  her  fist  in  Sara's  face. 

"Don't  you  touch  me  again,  you  brute!"  she 
screamed.  Then  she  summoned  all  her  energies  and 


50  STILL   JIM 

took  another  dignified  step  upward.  Again  the  stairs 
bucked.  Again  the  fat  woman  sat  down  on  Sara's 
hat.  Again  the  onlookers  were  overwhelmed  with 
laughter.  Pen  and  Jim  feebly  supported  each  other 
as  they  rode  up  and  down  on  the  lower  step.  Sara 
pushed  the  woman  off  his  head  and  again  she  turned 
on  him. 

"There!  You  made  me  swallow  my  gum!  And 
I'll  bet  you  call  yourself  a  gentleman !" 

Sara,  red-faced  but  grinning,  took  a  mighty  step 
upward,  gripped  the  woman  firmly  around  the  waist 
and  lifted  her  down  the  opposite  side  of  the  stile. 
Pen  and  Jim  followed  with  a  mad  scramble.  For  a 
moment  it  looked  as  if  the  red-headed  woman  would 
murder  Sara.  But  as  she  looked  at  his  young  beauty 
her  middle-aged  face  was  etched  by  a  gold-toothed 
smile. 

"Gee,  that's  more  fun  than  I've  had  for  a  year!" 
she  exclaimed  and  she  melted  into  helpless  laughter. 

Coney  Island  is  of  no  value  to  the  fastidious  or  the 
lazy.  Coney  Island  belongs  to  those  who  have  the  in 
valuable  gift  of  knowing  how  to  be  foolish,  who  have 
felt  the  soul-purging  quality  of  huge  laughter,  the  re 
vivifying  power  of  play.  Lawyers  and  pickpockets, 
speculators  and  laborers,  poets  and  butchers,  chorus 
girls  and  housewives  at  Coney  Island  find  one  common 
level  in  laughter.  Every  wholesome  human  being 
loves  the  clown. 

Spent  with  laughing,  Pen  finally  suggested  lunch, 
and  Jim  led  the  way  to  an  open-air  restaurant. 

"Let's,"  he  said  with  an  air  of  inspiration,  "eat  lunch 
backward.  Begin  with  coffee  and  cheese  and  ice 


JIM   FINDS   SARA   AND   PEN     51 

cream  and  pie  and  end  with  clam  chowder  and 
pickles." 

"Nothing  could  be  more  perfect!"  exclaimed  Pen 
enthusiastically,  and  as  nothing  surprises  a  Coney  Is 
lander  waiter,  they  reversed  the  menu. 

When  they  could  hold  no  more,  they  strolled  down 
to  the  beach  and  sat  in  the  sand.  The  crowd  was  very 
thick  here.  Nearly  everyone  was  in  a  bathing  suit. 
Women  lolled,  half-naked  in  the  sand,  while  their 
escorts,  still  more  scantily  clad,  sifted  sand  over  them. 
Unabashed  couples  embraced  each  other,  rubbing  el 
bows  with  other  embracing  pairs.  The  wind  blew 
the  smell  of  hot,  wet  humans  across  Jim's  face.  He 
looked  at  Pen's  sweet  face,  now  a  little  round-eyed 
and  abashed  in  watching  the  unashamed  crowd.  It  was 
the  first  time  that  Mrs.  Manning  had  allowed  Pen  to 
go  to  Coney  Island  without  her  careful  eye. 

Jim  said,  with  a  slow  red  coming  into  his  cheeks, 
"Let's  get  out  of  here,  Sara." 

"Why,  we  just  got  here,"  replied  Sara.  "Let's  get 
into  our  suits  and  have  some  fun." 

"Pen'll  not  get  into  a  bathing  suit  with  these  muck 
ers,"  answered  Jim,  slowly. 

Pen,  who  had  been  thinking  the  same  thing,  imme 
diately  resented  Jim's  tone.  "Of  course  I  shall,"  she 
replied  airily.  "You  can't  boss  me,  Jim." 

"That's  right,  Pen,"  agreed  Sara.  "Let  old  Prunes 
sit  here  and  swelter.  You  and  I  will  have  a  dip." 

Pen  rose  and  she  and  Sara  started  toward  the  bath 
house.  Jim  took  a  long  stride  round  in  front  of  the 
two. 

"Sara,  do  as  you  please,"  he  drawled.  "Penelope 
will  stay  here  with  me." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  SIGN  AND  SEAL 

"The  river  forever  flows  yet  she  sees  no  farther  than 
I  who  am  forever  silent,  forever  still." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

JIM  MANNING,  you've  no  right  to  speak  to  me 
that  way,"  said  Penelope. 

Jim  returned  her  look  clearly.  "You  are  to  stay 
here,  Pen,"  he  repeated  slowly. 

"You've  got  your  nerve,  Still!"  exclaimed  Sara. 
"Pen's  as  much  my  company  as  she  is  yours.  Quit 
trying  to  start  something.  Pen,  come  along." 

Jim  did  not  stir  for  a  moment,  then  he  jerked  his 
head  toward  the  bath  house.  "Go  ahead  and  get  into 
your  suit,  Sara.  Penelope  and  I  will  wait  here  for 
you." 

Sara  had  seen  Jim  in  this  guise  before,  on  the  foot 
ball  field.  For  a  moment  he  scowled,  then  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "You  old  mule!"  he  grunted.  "All 
right,  Pen.  You  pacify  the  brute  and  I'll  be  back  in  a 
few  minutes." 

Pen  did  not  yield  so  gracefully.  She  sat  down  in 
the  sand  with  her  back  half  turned  to  Jim  and  he,  with 
his  boyish  jaw  set,  eyed  her  uncomfortably.  She  did 

52 


THE    SIGN    AND    SEAL          53 

not  speak  to  him  until  Sara  appeared  and,  with  an 
airy  wave  of  the  hand,  waded  into  the  water. 

"I  think  Sara  looks  like  a  Greek  god  in  a  bathing 
suit,"  she  said.  "You'd  know  he  was  going  to  be  a 
duke,  just  to  look  at  him." 

Jim  gave  a  good  imitation  of  one  of  Uncle  Denny's 
grunts  and  said :  "He  isn't  a  duke — yet — and  he's 
gone  in  too  soon  after  eating." 

"And  he's  got  beautiful  manners,"  Pen  continued. 
"You  treat  me  as  if  I  were  a  child.  He  never  forgets 
that  I  am  a  lady." 

"Oh,  slush!"  drawled  Jim. 

Pen  turned  her  back,  squarely.  Sara  did  not  remain 
long  in  the  water  but  came  up  dripping  and  shivering 
to  burrow  in  the  hot  sand.  Pen  deliberately  sifted 
sand  over  him,  patting  it  down  as  she  saw  the  others 
do,  while  she  told  Sara  how  wonderfully  he  swam. 

Sara  eyed  Jim  mischievously,  while  he  answered : 
"Never  mind,  Pen.  When  I'm  the  duke,  you  shall  be 
the  duchess  and  have  a  marble  swimming  pool  all  of 
your  own.  And  old  Prunes  will  be  over  here  coaching 
Anthony  Comstock  while  you  and  I  are  doing  Europe 
— in  our  bathing  suits." 

Penelope  flushed  quickly  and  Sara's  halo  of  romance 
shone  brighter  than  ever. 

"The  Duchess  Pen,"  he  went  on  largely.  "Not  half 
bad.  For  my  part,  I  can't  see  any  objection  to  a  girl 
as  pretty  as  you  are  wearing  a  bathing  suit  anywhere, 
any  time." 

Pen  looked  at  Sara  adoringly.  At  sixteen  one  loves 
the  gods  easily.  Jim,  with  averted  face,  watched  the 
waves  dumbly.  It  had  been  easy  that  morning  to  toss 
speech  back  and  forth  with  the  boat  crowrd.  But  now, 


54  STILL    JIM 

as  always,  when  he  felt  that  his  need  for  words  was 
dire,  speech  deserted  him.  Suddenly  he  was  realizing 
that  Pen  was  no  longer  a  little  girl  and  that  she  ad 
mired  Saradokis  ardently.  When  the  young  Greek 
strolled  away  to  dress,  Jim  looked  at  Pen  intently. 
She  was  so  lovely,  so  rosy,  so  mischievous,  so  light 
and  sweet  as  only  sixteen  can  be. 

"Cross  patch.  Draw  the  latch !  Sit  by  the  sea  and 
grouch,"  she  sang. 

Jim  flushed.     "I'm  not  grouchy,"  he  protested. 

"Oh,  yes  you  are!"  cried  Pen.  "And  when  Sara 
comes  back,  he  and  I  are  going  up  for  some  ice  cream 
while  you  stay  here  and  get  over  it.  You  can  meet  us 
for  supper  with  Aunt  Mary  and  Uncle  Denny." 

Jim,  after  the  two  had  left,  sat  for  a  long  time  in 
the  sand.  He  wished  that  he  could  have  a  look  at  the 
old  swimming  hole  up  at  Exham.  He  wished  that  he 
and  Uncle  Denny  and  his  mother  and  Pen  were  living 
at  Exham.  For  the  first  time  he  felt  a  vague  distrust 
of  Sara.  After  a  time  he  got  into  his  bathing  suit  and 
spent  the  rest  of  the  afternoon  in  and  out  of  the  water, 
dressing  only  in  time  to  meet  the  rest  for  supper. 

After  supper  the  whole  party  went  to  one  of  the 
great  dancing  pavilions.  Uncle  Denny  and  Jim's 
mother  danced  old-fashioned  waltzes,  while  Sara  and 
Jim  took  turn  about  whirling  Penelope  through  two 
steps  and  galloping  through  modern  waltz  steps.  The 
music  and  something  in  Jim's  face  touched  Pen.  As 
he  piloted  her  silently  over  the  great  floor  in  their  first 
waltz,  she  looked  up  into  his  face  and  said : 

"I  was  horrid,  Still  Jim.  You  were  so  bossy.  But 
you  were  right;  it  was  no  place  for  me." 

Jim's  arm  tightened  round  her  soft  waist.  "Pen,"  he 


THE    SIGN    AND    SEAL          55 

said,  "promise  me  you'll  shake  Sara  and  the  rest  and 
walk  home  from  the  boat  with  me  tonight." 

Pen  hesitated.  She  would  rather  have  walked  home 
with  Sara,  but  she  was  very  contrite  over  Jim's  lonely 
afternoon,  so  she  promised.  Sara  left  the  boat  at  the 
Battery  to  get  a  subway  train  home.  When  the  others 
reached  23rd  street,  it  was  not  difficult  for  Jim  and 
Pen  to  drop  well  behind  Uncle  Denny  and  Jim's 
mother.  Jim  drew  Pen's  arm  firmly  within  his  own. 
This  seemed  very  funny  to  Penelope  and  yet  she  en 
joyed  it.  There  had  come  a  subtle  but  decided  change 
in  the  boy's  attitude  toward  her  that  day,  that  she  felt 
was  a  clear  tribute  to  her  newly  acquired  young  lady 
hood.  So,  while  she  giggled  under  her  breath,  she 
enjoyed  Jim's  sedulous  assistance  at  the  street  cross 
ings  immensely. 

But  try  as  he  would,  Jim  could  say  nothing  until  they 
reached  the  old  brownstone  front.  He  mounted  the 
steps  with  her  slowly.  In  the  dimly  lighted  vestibule 
he  took  both  her  hands. 

"Look  up  at  me,  Pen,"  he  said. 

The  girl  looked  up  into  the  tall  boy's  face.  Jim 
looked  down  into  her  sweet  eyes.  His  own  grew 
wistful. 

"I  wish  I  were  ten  years  older,"  he  said.  Then  very 
firmly :  "Penelope,  you  belong  to  me.  Remember  that, 
always.  We  belong  to  each  other.  When  I  have  made 
a  name  for  myself  I'm  coming  back  to  marry  you." 

"But,"  protested  Pen,  "I'd  much  rather  be  a 
duchess." 

Jim  held  her  hands  firmly.  "You  belong  to  me. 
You  shall  never  marry  Saradokis." 

Pen's  soft  gaze  deepened  as  she  looked  into  Jim's 


56  STILL   JIM 

eyes.  She  saw  a  light  there  that  stirred  something 
within  her  that  never  before  had  been  touched.  And 
Jim,  his  face  white,  drew  Penelope  to  him  and  laid  his 
soft  young  lips  to  hers,  holding  her  close  with  boyish 
arms  that  trembled  at  his  own  audacity,  even  while 
they  were  strong  with  a  man's  desire  to  hold. 

Penelope  gave  a  little  sobbing  breath  as  Jim  re 
leased  her. 

"That's  my  sign  and  seal,"  he  said  slowly,  "that 
kiss.  That's  to  hold  you  until  I'm  a  man." 

The  little  look  of  tragedy  that  often  lurked  in  Pen's 
eyes  was  very  plain  as  she  said:  "It  will  be  a  long 
time  before  you  have  made  a  name  for  yourself,  Still 
Jim.  Lots  of  things  will  happen  before  then." 

"I  won't  change,"  said  Jim.  "The  Mannings  don't." 
Then  with  a  great  sigh  as  of  having  definitely  settled 
his  life,  he  added :  "Gee,  I'm  hungry!  Me  stomach  is 
touching  me  backbone.  Let's  see  if  there  isn't  some 
thing  in  the  pantry.  Come  on,  Pen." 

And  Pen,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  dimples,  followed 
him. 

It  was  not  long  after  Pen's  birthday  that  the  college 
year  ended  and  Jim  and  Sara  went  to  work.  Jim  had 
spent  his  previous  vacations  with  the  family  at  the 
shore.  Saradokis  was  planning  to  become  a  construc 
tion  engineer,  with  New  York  as  his  field.  He  wanted 
Jim  to  go  into  partnership  with  him  when  they  were 
through  college.  So  he  persuaded  Jim  that  it  would 
be  a  good  experience  for  them  to  put  in  their  junior 
vacation  at  work  on  one  of  the  mighty  skyscrapers 
always  in  process  of  construction. 

They  got  jobs  as  steam  drillmen.  Jim  liked  the 
work.  He  liked  the  mere  sense  of  physical  accom- 


THE    SIGN   AND    SEAL          57 

plishment  in  working  the  drill.  He  liked  to  be  a  part 
of  the  creative  force  that  was  producing  the  building. 
But  to  his  surprise,  his  old  sense  of  suffocation  in 
being  crowded  in  with  the  immigrant  workman  re 
turned  to  him.  There  came  back,  too,  some  of  the 
old  melancholy  questioning  that  he  had  known  as  a 
boy. 

He  said  to  Sara  one  day :  "My  father  used  to  say 
that  when  he  was  a  boy  the  phrase,  'American  work 
man'  stood  for  the  highest  efficiency  in  the  world,  but 
that  even  in  his  day  the  phrase  had  become  a  joke. 
How  could  you  expect  this  rabble  to  know  that  there 
might  be  such  a  thing  as  an  American  standard  of 
efficiency?" 

Sara  laughed.  "Junior  Economics  stick  out  all  over 
you,  Still.  This  bunch  does  as  good  work  as  the 
American  owners  will  pay  for." 

Jim  was  silent  for  a  time,  then  he  said :  "I  wonder 
what's  the  matter  with  us  Americans?  How  did  we 
come  to  give  our  country  away  to  this  horde?" 

"  'Us  Americans !'  "  mimicked  Saradokis.  "What  is 
an  American,  anyhow?" 

"I'm  an  American,"  returned  Jim,  briefly. 

"Sure,"  answered  the  Greek,  "but  so  am  I  and  so 
are  most  of  these  fellows.  And  none  of  us  knows 
what  an  American  is.  I'll  admit  it  was  your  type 
founded  the  government.  But  you  are  goners.  There 
is  no  American  type  any  more.  And  by  and  by  we'll 
modify  your  old  Anglo-Saxon  institutions  so  that  G. 
Washington  will  simply  revolve  in  his  grave.  We'll 
add  Greek  ideas  and  Yiddish  and  Wop  and  Bohunk 
and  Armenian  and  Nigger  and  Chinese  and  Magyar. 
Gee !  The  world  will  forget  there  ever  was  one  of  you 


58  STILL   JIM 

big-headed  New  Englanders  in  this  country.  Huh! 
What  is  an  American?  The  American  type  will  have 
a  boarding  house  hash  beaten  for  infinite  variety  in  a 
generation  or  so." 

The  two  young  men  were  marching  along  23rd 
street  on  their  way  to  Jim's  house  for  dinner.  At 
Sara's  words  Jim  stopped  and  stared  at  the  young 
Greek.  His  gray  eyes  were  black. 

"So  that's  the  way  you  feel  about  us,  you  foreign 
ers!"  exclaimed  Jim.  "We  blazed  the  trail  for  you 
fellows  in  this  country  and  called  you  over  here  to 
use  it.  And  you've  suffocated  us  and  you  are  glad  of 
it.  Good  God!  Dad  and  the  Indians!" 

"What  did  you  call  us  over  here  for  but  to  make  us 
do  your  dirty  work  for  you?"  chuckled  the  Greek. 
"Serves  you  right.  Piffle !  What's  an  American  want 
to  talk  about  my  race  and  thine  for?  There's  room 
for  all  of  us!" 

Jim  did  not  answer.  All  that  evening  he  scarcely 
spoke.  That  night  he  dreamed  again  of  his  father's 
broken  body  and  dying  face  against  the  golden  August 
fields.  All  the  next  day  as  he  sweated  on  the  drill,  the 
futile  questionings  of  his  childhood  were  with  him. 

At  noon,  Sara  eyed  him  across  the  shining  surface 
of  a  Child's  restaurant  table.  Each  noon  they  de 
voured  a  quarter  of  their  day's  wages  in  roast  beef 
and  baked  apples. 

"Are  you  sore  at  me,  Still?"  asked  Sara.  "I  wasn't 
roasting  you,  personally,  last  night." 

Jim  shook  his  head.  Sara  waited  for  words  but 
Jim  ate  on  in  silence. 

"Oh,  for  the  love  of  heaven,  come  out  of  it!'* 
groaned  Sara.  "Tell  me  what  ails  you,  then  you  can 


THE    SIGN    AND    SEAL          59 

go  back  in  and  shut  the  door.  What  has  got  your 
goat?  You  can  think  we  foreigners  are  all  rotters  if 
you  want  to." 

"You  don't  get  the  point,"  replied  Jim.  "I  don't 
think  for  a  minute  that  you  newcomers  haven't  a  per 
fect  right  to  come  over  here.  But  I  have  race  pride. 
You  haven't.  I  can't  see  America  turned  from  North 
European  to  South  in  type  without  feeling  suffocated." 

The  young  Greek  stared  at  Jim  fixedly.  Then  he 
shook  his  head.  "You  are  in  a  bad  way,  my  child.  I 
prescribe  a  course  at  vaudeville  tonight.  I  see  you 
can  still  eat,  though." 

Jim  stuck  by  hts  drill  until  fall.  During  these  three 
months  he  pondered  more  over  his  father's  and  Ex- 
ham's  failure  than  he  had  for  years.  Yet  he  reached 
no  conclusion  save  the  blind  one  that  he  was  going  to 
fight  against  his  own  extinction,  that  he  was  going  to 
found  a  family,  that  he  was  going  to  make  the  old 
Manning  name  once  more  known  and  respected. 

It  was  after  this  summer  that  the  presence  of  race 
barrier  was  felt  by  Jim  and  Sara.  And  somehow,  too, 
after  Pen's  birthday  there  was  a  new  restraint  between 
the  two  boys.  Both  of  them  realized  then  that  Pen 
was  more  to  them  than  the  little  playmate  they  had 
hitherto  considered  her.  Jim  believed  that  the  kiss  in 
the  vestibule  bound  Pen  to  him  irretrievably.  But 
this  did  not  prevent  him  from  feeling  uneasy  and  re 
sentful  over  Sara's  devotion  to  her. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  charming  to  a  girl 
of  Pen's  age  than  Sara's  way  of  showing  his  devotion. 
Flowers  and  candy,  new  books  and  music  he  showered 
on  her  endlessly,  to  Mrs.  Manning's  great  disapproval. 
But  Uncle  Denny  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


60  STILL   JIM 

"Let  it  have  its  course,  me  dear.  'Tis  the  surest 
cure.  And  Jim  must  learn  to  speak  for  himself,  poor 
boy." 

So  the  pretty  game  went  on.  Something  in  Sara's 
heritage  made  him  a  finished  man  of  the  world,  while 
Jim  was  still  an  awkward  boy.  While  Jim's  affection 
manifested  itself  in  silent  watchfulness,  in  unobtru 
sive,  secret  little  acts  of  thought  fulness  and  care,  Sara- 
dokis  was  announcing  Pen  as  the  Duchess  to  all  their 
friends  and  openly  singing  his  joy  in  her  beauty  and 
cleverness. 

For  even  at  sixteen  Pen  showed  at  times  the  clear- 
minded  thought  fulness  that  later  in  life  was  to  be  her 
chief  characteristic.  This  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
Uncle  Denny  insisted  on  her  going  to  a  fashionable 
private  school.  She  read  enormously,  anything  and 
everything  that  came  to  hand.  Uncle  Denny's  books 
on  social  and  political  economy  were  devoured  quite  as 
readily  as  Jim's  novels  of  adventure  or  her  own  Chris 
tina  Rossetti.  And  Sara  was  to  her  all  the  heroes  of 
all  the  tales  she  read,  although  after  the  episode  of  the 
Sign  and  Seal  some  of  the  heroes  showed  a  surprising 
and  uncontrollable  likeness  to  Jim.  Penelope  never 
forgot  the  kiss  in  the  vestibule.  She  never  recalled  it 
without  a  sense  of  loss  that  she  was  too  young  to  un 
derstand  and  with  a  look  in  her  eyes  that  did  not  be 
long  to  her  youth  but  to  her  Celtic  temperament. 

She  looked  Jim  over  keenly  when  the  family  came 
up  from  the  shore  and  Jim  was  ready  for  his  senior 
year.  "You  never  were  cut  out  for  city  work,  Jimmy," 
she  said. 

"I'm  as  fit  as  I  ever  was  in  my  life,"  protested  Jim. 
"Physically,  of  course,"  answered  Pen.  "But  you 


THE   SIGN   AND    SEAL          61 

hate  New  York  and  so  it's  bad  for  you.  Get  out  into 
the  big  country,  Still  Jim.  I  was  brought  up  in  Colo 
rado,  remember.  I  know  the  kind  of  men  that  belong 
there.  I  love  that  color  of  necktie  on  you." 

"Have  you  heard  about  the  Reclamation  Service?" 
asked  Jim  eagerly.  Then  he  went  on :  "The  govern 
ment  is  building  big  dams  to  reclaim  the  arid  west.  It 
puts  up  the  money  and  does  the  work  and  then  the 
farmers  on  the  Project — that's  what  they  call  the  sys 
tem  and  the  land  it  \vaters — have  ten  years  or  so  to 
pay  back  what  it  cost  and  then  the  water  system  be 
longs  to  them.  They  are  going  to  put  up  some  of  the 
biggest  dams  in  the  world.  I'd  like  to  try  to  get  into 
that  work.  Somehow  I  like  the  idea  of  working  for 
Uncle  Sam.  James  Manning,  U.S.R.S. — how  does 
that  sound?" 

"Too  lovely  for  anything.  I'm  crazy  about  it. 
Sounds  like  Kipling  and  the  pyramids  and  Sahara, 
somehow." 

"Will  you  come  out  there  after  I  get  a  start,  Pen?" 
asked  Jim. 

"Gee!  I  should  say  not!  About  the  time  you're 
beginning  your  second  dam,  I'll  be  overwhelming  the 
courts  of  Europe,"  Pen  giggled.  Then  she  added, 
serenely :  "You  don't  realize,  Still,  that  I'm  going  to 
be  a  duchess." 

"Aw,  Pen,  cut  out  that  silly  talk.  You  belong  to 
me  and  don't  you  ever  think  your  flirtation  with  Sara 
is  serious  for  a  minute.  If  I  thought  you  really  did, 
I'd  give  up  the  Reclamation  idea  and  go  into  partner 
ship  with  Sara  so  as  to  watch  him  and  keep  him  from 
getting  you." 

"You  and  Sara  would  never  get  along  in  business 


62  STILL    JIM 

together,"  said  Pen,  with  one  of  her  farseeing  looks. 
''Sara  would  tie  you  in  a  bowknot  in  business,  and  the 
older  you  two  grow  the  more  you  are  going  to  develop 
each  other's  worst  sides." 

"Nevertheless,  Sara  shall  never  get  you,"  said  Jim 
grimly. 

Penelope  gave  Jim  an  odd  glance.  "Sara  is  my 
fate,  Still  Jim,"  she  said  soberly. 

"Oh,  pickles!"  exclaimed  Jim. 

Pen  tossed  her  head  and  left  him. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  their  senior  year  that  Jim 
and  Sara  ran  the  Marathon.  It  was  a  great  event  in 
the  world  of  college  athletics.  Men  from  every  impor 
tant  college  in  the  country  competed  in  the  tryout. 
For  the  final  Marathon  there  were  left  twenty  men, 
Sara  and  Jim  among  them. 

The  course  was  laid  along  Broadway  from  a  point 
near  Van  Cortlandt  Park  to  Columbus  Circle,  ten 
long,  clean  miles  of  asphalt.  Early  on  the  bright  May 
morning  of  the  race  crowds  began  to  gather  along  the 
course.  At  first,  a  thin  line  of  enthusiasts,  planting 
themselves  on  camp  stools  along  the  curb.  Then  at 
the  beginning  and  end  of  the  course  the  line,  thickened 
to  two  or  three  deep  until  at  last  the  police  began  to 
establish  lines.  Mounted  police  appeared  at  intervals 
to  turn  traffic.  The  crowd  as  it  thickened  grew  more 
noisy.  Strange  college  yells  were  emitted  intermit 
tently.  Street  fakirs  traveled  diligently  up  and  down 
the  lines  selling  college  banners.  At  last,  Broadway 
lay  a  shining  black  ribbon,  bordered  with  every  hue 
of  the  rainbow,  awaiting  the  runners. 

Uncle  Denny  had  an  elaborate  plan  for  seeing  the 
race.  He  and  Jim's  mother  and  Penelope  established 


THE    SIGN    AND    SEAL          63 

themselves  at  I59th  street,  with  a  waiting  automobile 
around  the  corner.  After  the  runners  had  passed  this 
point,  the  machine  was  to  rush  them  to  the  grand  stand 
at  Columbus  Circle  for  the  finish. 

The  three  stood  on  the  curb  at  1 59th  street,  waiting. 
It  was  mid-afternoon  when  to  the  north,  above  the 
noise  of  the  city,  an  increasing  roar  told  of  the  com 
ing  of  the  runners.  Pen,  standing  between  Uncle 
Denny  and  Jim's  mother,  seized  a  hand  of  each.  Far 
up  the  shining  black  asphalt  ribbon  appeared  a  group 
of  white  dots.  The  roar  grew  with  their  approach. 

Suddenly  Penelope  leaned  forward.  "Sara!  Sara! 
Jim !  Jim !"  she  screamed. 

Four  men  were  leading  the  Marathon.  A  Calif  or- 
nian,  a  Wisconsin  man,  Jim  and  Sara.  Sara  led,  then 
Jim  and  the  Calif ornian,  then  the  Wisconsin  man  with 
not  a  foot  between  any  two  of  them. 

Jim  was  running  easier  than  Sara.  He  had  the  ad 
vantage  of  less  weight  with  the  same  height.  Sara's 
running  pants  and  jersey  were  drenched  with  sweat. 
He  was  running  with  his  mouth  dropped  open,  head 
back,  every  superb  line  of  his  body  showing  under  his 
wet  clothes.  His  tawny  hair  gleamed  in  the  sun. 
No  sculptured  marble  of  a  Greek  runner  was  ever 
more  beautiful  than  Sara  as  he  ran  the  Marathon. 

Jim  was  running  "with  his  nerves,"  head  forward, 
teeth  clenched,  fists  tight  to  his  side,  long,  lean  and 
lithe.  His  magnificent  head  outlined  itself  for  an 
instant  against  the  sky  line  of  the  Hudson,  fine,  tense, 
like  the  painting  of  a  Saxon  warrior.  Pen  carried  this 
picture  of  him  in  her  heart  for  years. 

The  moment  the  boys  had  passed,  Uncle  Denny 
made  a  run  for  the  machine.  The  three  entered  the 


64  STILLJIM 

grand  stand  just  as  the  white  dots  appeared  under  the 
elevated  tracks  at  66th  street.  There  was  a  roar,  a 
fluttering  of  banners,  a  crash  of  music  from  a  band 
and  a  single  runner  broke  from  the  group  and  stag 
gered  against  the  line.  Saradokis  had  won  the  race. 

Jim  was  not  to  be  seen.    Uncle  Denny  was  frantic. 

"Where's  me  boy?"  he  shouted.  "He  was  fit  to 
finish  at  the  Battery  when  he  passed  us.  Give  me  deck 
room  here.  I'm  going  to  find  him!" 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    MARATHON 

"I  have  seen  a  thing  that  humans  call  friendship.  It 
is  clearer,  higher,  less  frequent  than  the  thing  they 
call  love." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

AT  66th  street,  Jim  had  passed  the  Calif ornian 
and  caught  up  with  Sara.  He  held  Sara's  pace 
for  the  next  block.  Try  as  he  would,  the  young  Greek 
could  not  throw  Jim  off  and  instinct  told  him  that  Jim 
had  enough  reserve  in  him  to  forge  ahead  in  the  final 
spurt  at  Columbus  Circle,  six  blocks  away. 

But  it  63rd  street  something  happened.  A  fire 
alarm  was  turned  in  from  a  store  in  the  middle  of  the 
block.  The  police  tried  to  move  the  crowd  away  with 
out  interfering  with  the  race,  but  just  as  the  runners 
reached  the  point  of  the  fire,  the  crowd  broke  into  the 
street.  A  boy  darted  in  front  of  Sara  and  Jim,  and 
Sara  struck  at  the  lad.  It  was  a  back-handed  blow 
and  Sara  brought  his  elbow  back  into  Jim's  stomach 
with  a  force  that  doubled  Jim  up  like  a  closing  book. 
Sara  did  not  look  round.  A  policeman  jerked  Jim  to 
his  feet. 

"After  'em,  boy.  Ye  still  can  beat  the  next  bunch!" 
cried  the  policeman.  But  Jim  was  all  in.  The  blow 
had  been  a  vicious  one  and  he  swayed  limply  against 
the  burly  bluecoat. 

65 


66  STILL    JIM 

"Dirty  luck!"  grunted  the  Irishman,  and  with  his 
arm  under  Jim's  shoulders  he  walked  slowly  with  him 
to  the  rooms  at  Columbus  Circle,  where  the  runners 
were  to  dress.  There  Uncle  Denny  found  Jim,  still 
white  and  shaken,  dressing  slowly. 

"What  happened  to  you,  me  boy?"  asked  Uncle 
Denny,  looking  at  him  keenly. 

Jim  sat  limply  on  the  edge  of  a  cot  and  told  Dennis 
what  had  happened. 

"The  low  scoundrel !"  roared  Uncle  Denny.  "Leave 
me  get  at  him!" 

Jim  caught  the  purple- faced  Irishman  by  the  arm. 
"You  are  to  say  nothing  to  anyone,  Uncle  Denny. 
How  could  I  prove  that  he  meant  to  do  it?  And  do 
you  want  me  to  be  a  loser  that  bellyaches?" 

Uncle  Denny  looked  Jim  over  and  breathed  hard  for 
a  moment  before  he  replied :  "Very  well,  me  boy. 
But  I  always  suspected  he  had  a  yellow  streak  in  him 
and  this  proves  it.  Have  you  seen  him  do  dirty  tricks 
before?" 

"I  never  had  any  proof,"  answered  Jim  carefully. 
"And  it  was  always  some  money  matter  and  I'm  no 
financier,  so  I  laid  it  to  my  own  ignorance." 

"A  man  who  will  do  dirt  in  money  matters  can't  be 
a  clean  sport,"  said  Uncle  Denny.  "This  ends  any 
chance  of  your  going  into  business  with  him,  Jim,  I 
hope." 

"I  gave  that  idea  up  long  ago,  Uncle  Denny.  Pen  is 
not  to  hear  a  word  of  all  this,  remember,  won't  you?" 

At  this  moment,  Saradokis  burst  in  the  door.  He 
was  dressed  and  his  face  was  vivid  despite  his  ex 
haustion. 


THE    MARATHON  67 

"Hey,  Still!  What  happened  to  you ?  Everybody's 
looking  for  yon.  Congratulate  me,  old  scout!" 

Jim  looked  from  Sara's  outstretched  hand  to  his 
beaming  face.  Then  he  put  his  own  hand  in  his 
pocket. 

"That  was  a  rotten  deal  you  handed  me,  Sara,"  he 
said  in  the  drawl  that  bit. 

"What !"  cried  Sara. 

"What's  done's  done,"  replied  Jim.  "I'm  no 
snitcher,  so  you  know  you're  safe.  But  I'm  through 
with  you." 

Sara  turned  to  Uncle  Denny,  injured  innocence  in 
his  face.  "What  is  the  matter  with  him,  Mr.  Dennis  ?" 
he  exclaimed. 

"Still  Jim,  me  boy,  go  down  to  the  machine  while  I 
talk  with  Sara,"  said  Dennis. 

"No,  there  is  no  use  talking,"  insisted  Jim. 

"Jim,"  said  Dennis  sternly,  "I  ask  you  to  obey  me 
but  seldom." 

Without  a  word  Jim  picked  up  the  suit  case  contain 
ing  his  running  togs  and  went  down  to  the  automobile 
where  his  mother  and  Penelope  were  waiting.  To 
their  anxious  questions  he  merely  replied  that  he  had 
fallen.  This  was  enough  for  the  two  women  folk,  who 
tucked  him  in  between  them  comfortably  and  his 
mother  held  his  hand  while  Pen  gave  him  a  glowing 
account  of  the  finish  of  the  race. 

Jim  listened  with  a  grim  smile,  his  gray  eyes  steadily 
fixed  on  Pen's  lovely  face.  Not  for  worlds  would  he 
have  had  Penelope  know  that  Sara  had  won  the  race 
on  a  foul.  Whatever  she  learned  about  the  Greek  he 
was  determined  she  should  not  learn  through  him.  He 


68  STILL   JIM 

was  going  to  win  on  his  own  points,  he  told  himself, 
and  not  by  tattling  on  his  rival. 

It  was  fifteen  minutes  before  Dennis  and  Sara  ap 
peared.  Sara's  face  was  red  with  excitement  and 
drawn  with  weariness.  He  walked  directly  to  the 
machine  and,  looking  up  into  Pen's  face,  exclaimed: 

"If  Jim  has  told  you  that  I  gave  him  a  knockout 
to  win  the  race,  it's  a  lie,  Pen !" 

Penelope  looked  from  Jim  to  Uncle  Denny,  then 
back  to  Sara  in  utter  bewilderment. 

"Why,  Sara!  He  never  said  anything  of  the  kind! 
He  said  he  had  a  bad  fall  when  the  crowd  closed  in  and 
that  it  put  him  out  of  the  race." 

"I  told  you  to  keep  quiet,  Sara,  that  Jim  would 
never  say  anything  I"  cried  Uncle  Denny. 

"Get  in,  both  of  you,"  said  Jim's  mother  quietly. 
"Don't  make  a  scene  on  the  street." 

"If  Saradokis  gets  in,  I'll  take  the  Elevated  home," 
said  Jim  slowly. 

"Don't  worry!"  snapped  Sara.  "I'm  meeting  my 
father  in  a  moment.  Pen,  you  believe  in  me,  don't 
you?" 

Pen  seized  his  outstretched  hand  and  gave  the  oth 
ers  an  indignant  look.  "Of  course  I  do,  though  I  don't 
know  what  it's  all  about." 

Sara  lifted  his  hat  and  turned  away  and  the  machine 
started  homeward. 

"Now,  what  on  earth  happened?"  Pen  cried. 

Uncle  Denny  looked  at  Jim  and  Jim  shook  his  head. 
"I'm  not  going  to  talk  about  it,"  he  said.  "I've  a  right 
to  keep  silence." 

Pen  bounced  up  and  down  on  the  seat  impatiently. 


THE    MARATHON  69 

"You  haven't  any  such  right,  Jim  Manning.  You've 
got  to  tell  me  what  you  said  about  Sara." 

"Aw,  let's  forget  it!"  answered  Jim  wearily.  "I'm 
sorry  I  ever  even  told  Uncle  Denny." 

He  leaned  back  and  closed  his  eyes  and  his  tired 
face  touched  Pen's  heart.  "You  poor  dear!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "It  was  awfully  hard  on  you  to  lose  the 
race." 

Jim's  mother  patted  her  boy's  hand.  "You  are  a 
very  blind  girl,  Penelope,"  she  said.  "And  I'm  afraid 
it  will  take  long  years  of  trouble  to  open  your  eyes. 
We  all  must  just  stand  back  and  wait." 

The  little  look  of  pre-knowledge  that  occasionally 
made  Pen's  eyes  old  came  to  them  now  as  she  looked 
at  Jim's  mother.  "Did  you  learn  easily,  Aunt  Mary?" 

The  older  woman  shook  her  head.  "Heaven 
knows,"  she  answered,  "I  paid  a  price  for  what  little 
I  know,  the  price  of  experience.  I  guess  we  women 
are  all  alike." 

When  they  reached  the  brownstone  front,  Jim  went 
to  bed  at  once  and  the  matter  of  the  race  was  not  men 
tioned  among  the  other  three  at  supper.  Pen  was  of 
fended  at  what  she  considered  the  lack  of  confidence 
in  her  and  withdrew  haughtily  to  her  room.  Uncle 
Denny  went  out  and  did  not  return  until  late.  Jim's 
mother  was  waiting  for  him  in  their  big,  comfortable 
bedroom. 

Dennis  peeled  off  his  coat  and  vest  and  wiped  his 
forehead.  "Mary,"  he  said,  "I've  been  talking  to  the 
policeman  who  helped  Jim.  He  says  it  was  a  delib 
erate  knockout  Sara  gave  Jim.  He  was  standing  right 
beside  them  at  the  time." 


70  STILL    JIM 

Jim's  mother  threw  up  her  hands.  "That  Greek 
shall  never  come  inside  this  house  again,  Michael!" 

Dennis  nodded  as  he  walked  the  floor.  "I  don't 
know  what  to  do  about  the  matter.  As  a  lawyer,  I'd 
say,  drop  it.  As  Jim's  best  friend,  I  feel  like  making 
trouble  for  Saradokis,  though  I  know  Jim  will  refuse 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  it." 

Jim's  mother  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  sock  she 
was  darning.  "Jim  has  the  right  to  say  what  shall  be 
done.  It  means  a  lot  to  him  in  regard  to  its  effect  on 
Pen.  But  I  think  Pen  must  be  told  the  whole  story." 

Uncle  Denny  continued  to  pace  the  floor  for  some 
time,  then  he  sighed :  "You're  right,  as  usual,  Mary. 
I'll  tell  Pen  meself,  and  forbid  Sara  the  house,  then 
we'll  drop  it.  I'm  glad  for  one  thing.  This  gives  the 
last  blow  to  any  hope  Sara  may  have  had  of  getting 
Jim  into  business  with  him.  Jim  will  take  that  job 
with  the  United  States  Reclamation  Service,  I  hope. 
Though  how  I'm  to  live  without  me  boy,  Mary,  its 
hard  for  me  to  say." 

Uncle  Denny's  Irish  voice  broke  and  Jim's  mother 
suddenly  rose  and  kissed  his  pink  cheek. 

"Michael,"  she  said,  "even  if  I  hadn't  grown  so 
fond  of  you  for  your  own  sake,  I  would  have  to  love 
you  for  your  love  for  Jim." 

A  sudden  smile  lighted  the  Irishman's  face  and 
he  gave  the  slender  little  woman  a  boyish  hug. 

"We  are  the  most  comfortable  couple  in  the  world, 
Mary!"  he  cried. 

Uncle  Denny  told  the  story  of  the  boys'  trouble  to 
Penelope  the  next  morning.  Pen  flatly  refused  to  be 
lieve  it. 

"I  don't  doubt  that  Jim  thinks  Sara  meant  it/'  she 


THE    MARATHON  71 

said.  "But  I  am  surprised  at  Jim.  And  I  shall  have 
to  tell  you,  Uncle  Denny,  that  if  you  forbid  Sara  the 
house  I  shall  meet  him  clandestinely.  I,  for  one, 
won't  turn  down  an  old  friend." 

Pen  was  so  firm  and  so  unreasonable  that  she 
alarmed  Dennis.  In  spite  of  his  firm  resolution  to 
the  contrary,  he  felt  obliged  to  tell  Jim  of  Penelope's 
obstinacy. 

"I  wish  I'd  kept  my  silly  mouth  shut,"  said  Jim, 
gloomily.  "Of  course  that's  just  the  effect  the  story 
would  have  on  Pen.  She  is  nothing  if  not  loyal. 
Here  she  conies  now.  Uncle  Denny,  I  might  as  well 
have  it  out  with  her." 

The  two  men  were  standing  on  the  library  hearth 
rug  in  the  old  way.  Pen  came  in  with  her  nose  in  the 
air  and  fire  in  he"r  eyes.  Uncle  Denny  fled  precipi 
tately. 

Jim  looked  at  Penelope  admiringly.  She  was  grow 
ing  into  a  very  lovely  young  womanhood.  She  was 
not  above  medium  height  and  she  was  slender,  yet  full 
of  long,  sweet  curves. 

"Jim!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  don't  believe  a  word  of 
that  horrid  story  about  Sara." 

Jim  nodded.  "I'm  sorry  it  was  told  you.  I'm  not 
going  to  discuss  it  with  you,  Pen.  You  were  told  the 
facts  without  my  consent.  You  have  a  right  to  your 
own  opinion.  Say,  Pen,  I  can  get  my  appointment  to 
the  Reclamation  Service  and  I'm  going  out  west  in  a 
couple  of  weeks.  I — I  want  to  say  something  to  you." 

Jim  moistened  his  lips  and  prayed  for  the  right 
words  to  come.  Pen  looked  a  little  bewildered.  She 
had  come  in  to  champion  Sara  and  was  not  inclined 


72  STILL   JIM 

to  discuss  Jim's  job  instead.     But  Jim  found  words 
and  spoke  eagerly: 

"I'm  going  away,  Pen,  to  make  some  kind  of  a  name 
to  bring  back  to  you  and  then,  when  I've  made  it,  I'm 
coming  for  you,  Penelope."  He  put  his  strong  young 
hands  on  Pen's  shoulders  and  looked  clearly  into  her 
eyes.  "You  belong  to  me,  Penelope.  You  never  can 
belong  to  Sara.  You  know  that." 

Pen  looked  up  into  Jim's  face  a  little  pitifully. 
"Still  Jim,  way  back  in  my  heart  is  a  feeling  for  you 
that  belongs  to  no  one  else.  You — you  are  fine,  Jim, 
and  yet — Oh,  Jim,  if  you  want  me,  you'd  better  take 
me  now  because,"  this  with  a  sudden  gust  of  girlish 
confidence,  "because,  honestly,  I'm  just  crazy  about 
Sara,  and  I  know  you  are  better  for  me  than  he  is !" 

Jim  gave  a  joyful  laugh.  "I'd  be  a  mucker  to  try 
to  make  you  marry  me  now,  Penny.  You  are  just 
a  kid.  And  just  a  dear.  There  is  an  awful  lot  to  you 
that  Sara  can  never  touch.  You  show  it  only  to  me. 
And  it's  mine." 

"You'd  better  stay  on  the  job,  Still,"  said  Pen, 
warningly. 

Again  Jim  laughed.  "Why,  you  sent  me  out  west 
yourself." 

Pen  nodded.  "And  it  will  make  a  man  of  you.  It 
will  wake  you  up.  And  when  you  wake  up,  you'll 
be  a  big  man,  Jimmy." 

Pen's  old  look  was  on  her  face.  "What  do  you 
mean,  Pen?"  asked  Jim. 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  quite  know. 
Some  day,  when  I've  learned  some  of  the  lessons  Aunt 
Mary  says  are  coming  to  me,  I'll  tell  you."  Then  a 
look  almost  of  fright  came  to  Pen's  face.  "I'm  afraid 


THE    MARATHON  73 

to  learn  the  lessons,  Still  Jim.  Take  me  with  you  now, 
Jimmy." 

The  tall  boy  looked  at  her  longingly,  then  he  said: 
"Dear,  I  mustn't.  It  wouldn't  be  treating  you  right." 
And  there  was  a  sudden  depth  of  passion  in  his  young 
voice  as  he  added,  'Tin  going  to  give  you  my  sign  and 
seal  again,  beloved." 

And  Jim  lifted  Penelope  in  his  strong  arms  and  laid 
his  lips  to  hers  in  a  hot  young  kiss  that  seemed  to  leave 
its  impress  on  her  very  heart.  As  he  set  her  to  her 
feet,  Penelope  gave  a  little  sob  and  ran  from  the  room. 

Nothing  that  life  brings  us  is  so  sure  of  itself  as 
first  love ;  nothing  ever  again  seems  so  surely  to  belong 
to  life's  eternal  verities.  Jim  went  about  his  prepara 
tions  for  graduating  and  for  leaving  home  with  com 
plete  sense  of  security.  He  had  arranged  his  future. 
There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said  on  the  matter. 
Fate  had  no  terror  for  Jim.  He  had  the  bravery  of 
untried  youth. 

The  next  two  weeks  were  busy  and  hurried.  Pen,  a 
little  wistful  eyed  whenever  she  looked  at  Jim,  avoided 
being  alone  with  him.  Saradokis  did  not  come  to  the 
house  again.  He  took  two  weeks  in  the  mountains 
after  graduation  before  beginning  the  contracting 
business  which  his  father  had  built  up  for  him. 

As  the  time  drew  near  for  leaving  home,  Jim 
planned  to  say  a  number  of  things  to  his  Uncle  Denny. 
He  wanted  to  tell  him  about  his  feeling  for  Pen  and 
he  wanted  to  tell  how  much  he  was  going  to  miss  the 
fine  old  Irishman's  companionship.  He  wanted  to  tell 
him  that  he  was  not  merely  Jim  Manning,  going  to 
work,  but  that  he  was  a  New  Englander  going  forth 
to  retrieve  old  Exham.  But  the  words  would  not  come 


74  STILL   JIM 

out  and  Jim  went  away  without  realizing  that  Uncle 
Denny  knew  every  word  he  would  have  said  and  vastly 
more,  that  only  the  tender  Irish  heart  can  know. 

Jim's  mother,  Uncle  Denny  and  Pen  went  to  the 
station  with  him.  He  kissed  his  mother,  wrung  Pen's 
and  Dennis'  hands,  then  climbed  aboard  the  train  and 
reappeared  on  the  observation  platform.  His  face  was 
rigid.  His  hat  was  clenched  in  his  fist.  None  of  the 
watching  group  was  to  forget  the  picture  of  him  as 
the  train  pulled  out.  The  tall,  boyish  figure  in  the  blue 
Norfolk  suit,  the  thick  brown  hair  tossed  across  his 
dreamer's  forehead,  and  the  half  sweet,  half  wistful 
smile  set  on  his  young  lips. 

There  were  tears  on  Jim's  mother's  cheeks  and  in 
Pen's  eyes,  but  Uncle  Denny  broke  down  and  cried. 

"He's  me  own  heart,  Still  Jim  is!"  he  sobbed. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  CUB  ENGINEER 

"Humans  constantly  shift  sand  and  rock  from  place 
to  place.    They  call  this  work.     I  have  seen  time  return 
their  every  work  to  the  form  in  which  it  was  created." 
MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

IT  was  hard  to  go.  But  Jim  was  young  and  adven 
ture  called  him.  As  the  train  began  its  long 
transcontinental  journey,  Jim  would  not  have  ex 
changed  places  with  any  man  on  earth.  He  was  a 
full-fledged  engineer.  He  was  that  creature  of  un 
matched  vanity,  a  young  man  with  his  first  job.  And 
Jim's  first  job  was  with  his  government.  The  Recla 
mation  Service  was,  to  Jim's  mind,  a  collection  of 
great  souls,  scientifically  inclined,  giving  their  lives  to 
their  country,  harvesting  their  rewards  in  adventure 
and  in  the  abandoned  gratitude  of  a  watching  nation. 

Jim  was  headed  for  the  Green  Mountain  project 
which  was  located  in  the  Indian  country  of  the  far 
Northwest.  There  were  not  many  months  of  work 
left  on  the  dam  or  the  canals.  But  Jim  was  to  report 
to  the  engineer  in  charge  of  this  project  to  receive 
from  him  his  first  training. 

This  was  Jim's  first  trip  away  from  the  Atlantic 
coast.  He  was  a  typical  Easterner,  accustomed  to 

75 


76  STILLJIM 

landscapes  on  a  small  scale  and  to  the  human  touch  on 
everything.  Until  he  left  St.  Paul,  nothing  except 
the  extreme  width  of  the  map  really  surprised  him. 
But  after  the  train  had  crossed  the  Mississippi  valley, 
it  began  to  traverse  vast  rolling  plains,  covered  from 
horizon  to  horizon  with  wheat.  At  endless  intervals 
were  set  tiny  dwellings  like  lone  sentinels  guarding 
the  nation's  bread.  After  the  plains,  came  an  arid 
country  where  a  constantly  beaten  vegetation  fought 
with  the  alkali  until  at  last  it  gave  way  to  a  world 
of  yellow  sand  and  purple  sky. 

After  a  day  of  this,  far  to  the  west  appeared  a  deli 
cate  line  of  snowcapped  peaks  toward  which  the  flying 
train  snailed  for  hours,  until  Jim,  watching  eagerly, 
saw  the  sand  give  way  to  low  grassy  hills,  the  hills 
merge  into  ridges  and  the  ridges  into  pine-clad  moun 
tain  slopes. 

For  the  last  two  days  of  the  trip  the  train  swung 
through  dizzy  spaces,  slid  through  dim,  dripping  can 
yons,  crossed  trestles  even  greater  than  the  trestles  of 
Jim's  boyhood  dreams;  twisted  about  peaks  that  gave 
unexpected,  fleeting  views  of  other  peaks  of  other 
ranges  until  Jim  crawled  into  his  berth  at  night  sight- 
weary  and  with  a  sense  of  loneliness  that  appalled  him. 

At  noon  of  a  bright  day,  Jim  landed  at  a  little  way 
station  from  which  a  single-gauge  track  ran  off  into 
apparent  nothingness.  Puffing  on  the  single-gauge 
track  was  a  "dinky"  engine,  coupled  to  a  flat  car. 
Wooden  benches  were  fastened  along  one  end  of  the 
car.  The  engineer  and  fireman  were  loading  sheet 
iron  on  the  other  end.  They  looked  Jim  over  as  he 
approached  them. 

"Do  you  go  up  to  the  dam  ?"  he  asked. 


THE    CUB    ENGINEER          77 

"If  we  ever  get  this  stuff  loaded,"  replied  the  engi 
neer. 

"I'd  like  to  go  up  with  you,"  said  Jim.  "I've  got  a 
job  up  there." 

The  engineer  grunted.  "Another  cub  engineer.  All 
right,  sonny.  Load  your  trousseau  onto  the  Pullman." 

Jim  grinned  sheepishly  and  heaved  his  trunk  and 
suit  case  up  on  the  flat  car.  Then  he  lent  a  hand  with 
the  sheet  iron  and  climbed  aboard. 

"Let  her  rip,  Bill,"  said  the  fireman.  And  she  pro 
ceeded  to  rip.  Jim  held  his  hat  between  his  knees  and 
clung  to  the  bench  with  both  hands.  The  dinky 
whipped  around  curves  and  across  viaducts,  the  grade 
rising  steadily  until  just  as  Jim  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  his  moments  were  numbered,  they  reached  the 
first  steep  grade  into  the  mountain.  From  this  point 
the  ride  was  a  slow  and  steady  climb  up  a  pine-covered 
mountain.  Just  before  sunset  the  engine  stopped  at 
a  freight  shed. 

"Go  on  up  the  trail,"  said  the  fireman.  "We'll  send 
your  stuff  up  to  the  officers'  camp." 

Jim  saw  a  wide  macadam  road  leading  up  through 
the  pines.  The  unmistakable  sounds  of  great  construc 
tion  work  dropped  faintly  down  to  him.  His  pulse 
quickened  and  he  started  up  the  road  which  wound  for 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  through  trees  the  trunks  of  which 
were  silhouetted  against  the  setting  sun.  Then  the 
road  swept  into  the  open.  Jim  stopped. 

First  he  saw  ranges,  stretching  away  and  away  to 
the  evening  glory  of  the  sky.  Then,  nearer,  he  saw 
solitary  peaks,  etched  black  against  the  heavens,  and 
groups  of  peaks  whose  mighty  flanks  merged  as  if  in 
a  final  struggle  for  supremacy. 


78  STILL   JIM 

The  boy  saw  a  country  of  mighty  distances,  of  inde 
scribable  cruelty  and  hostility,  a  country  of  unthink 
able  heights  and  impassable  depths.  And,  standing  so, 
struggling  to  resist  the  sense  of  the  region's  terrifying 
bigness,  he  saw  that  all  the  valleys  and  canyons  and 
mountain  slopes  seemed  to  focus  toward  one  point. 
It  was  as  if  they  had  concentrated  at  one  spot  against 
a  common  enemy. 

This  point,  he  saw,  was  a  huge  black  canyon  that 
carried  the  waters  from  all  the  hundred  hills  around. 
It  was  the  point  where  the  war  of  waters  must  be 
keenest,  where  the  stand  of  the  wilderness  was  most 
savage  and  where  lay  the  one  touch  of  man  in  all  that 
area  of  contending  mountains. 

A  vast  wall  of  masonry  had  been  built  to  block  the 
outlet  of  the  ranges.  A  curving  wall  of  gray  stone, 
so  huge,  so  naked  of  conscious  adornment  that  the 
hills  might  well  have  disbelieved  it  to  be  an  enemy  and 
have  accepted  it  as  part  and  parcel  of  their  own  silent 
grandeur. 

Jim  lifted  his  hat  slowly  and  moistened  his  lips. 
This,  then,  was  the  labor  to  which  he  had  so  patron 
izingly  offered  his  puny  hands. 

After  a  while,  details  obtruded  themselves.  Jim  saw 
black  dots  of  men  moving  about  the  top  of  the  dam. 
He  heard  the  clatter  of  concrete  mixers,  the  raucous 
grind  of  the  crusher,  the  scream  of  donkey  engines 
and  the  shouts  of  foremen.  Back  to  the  right,  among 
the  trees,  was  a  long  military  line  of  tents.  Above  the 
noise  of  construction  the  boy  caught  the  silent  brood 
ing  of  the  forest  and,  poured  round  all,  the  liquid  glory 
of  the  sunset.  Suddenly  he  saw  the  whole  great  pic 
ture  as  his  own  work,  and  it  was  a  picture  as  elusive, 


THE    CUB    ENGINEER          79 

as  tantalizing,  as  a  boy's  first  dreams  of  pirate  adven 
ture.  Jim  had  come  to  his  first  great  dam. 

When  he  had  shaken  himself  together  and  had  swal 
lowed  the  lump  in  his  throat,  he  asked  a  passing  work 
man  for  Mr.  Freet,  the  Project  Engineer.  He  was 
directed  to  a  tent  with  a  sheet  iron  roof.  Jim  stopped 
bashfully  in  the  door.  A  tall  man  was  standing  before 
a  map.  Jim  had  a  good  look  at  him  before  he  turned 
around. 

Mr.  Freet  wore  corduroy  riding  breeches  and  leather 
puttees,  a  blue  flannel  shirt  and  soft  tie.  He  was  thin 
and  tall  and  had  a  shock  of  bright  red  hair.  When 
he  turned,  Jim  saw  that  his  face  was  bronzed  and 
deeply  lined.  His  eyes  were  black  and  small  and 
piercing. 

"Mr.  Freet/'  said  Jim,  "my  name  is  Manning." 

The  project  engineer  came  forward  with  a  pleasant 
smile.  "Why,  Mr.  Manning,  we  didn't  look  for  you 
until  tomorrow,  though  your  tent  is  ready  for  you. 
Come  in  and  sit  down." 

Jim  took  the  proffered  camp  chair  and  after  a  few 
inquiries  about  his  trip,  Mr.  Freet  said :  "It's  supper 
time  and  I'll  take  you  over  to  the  mess  and  introduce 
you.  Only  a  few  of  the  engineers  have  their  wives 
here  and  all  the  others,  with  the  so-called  'office'  force, 
eat  at  'Officers'  Mess.'  I'm  not  going  to  load  you  up 
with  advice,  Mr.  Manning.  You  are  a  tenderfoot  and 
fresh  from  college.  You  occupy  the  position  of  cub 
engineer  here,  so  you  will  be  fair  bait  for  hazing. 
Don't  take  it  too  seriously.  About  your  work  ?  I  shall 
put  you  into  the  hands  of  the  chief  draughtsman  for  a 
time.  I  want  you  to  thoroughly  familiarize  yourself 
with  that  end  of  the  work.  Then,  although  most  of 


8o  STILL   JIM 

that  part  is  done,  you  will  go  into  the  concrete  works, 
then  out  on  the  dam  with  the  superintendent.  Re 
member  that  you  have  no  record  except  some  good 
college  work.  Forget  that  you  ever  were  a  senior. 
Look  at  yourself  as  a  freshman  in  a  difficult  course, 
where  too  many  cons  means  a  life  failure." 

Jim  listened  respectfully.  At  that  moment  Arthur 
Freet  was  the  biggest  man  on  earth  to  him. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said.    "Thank  you." 

Freet  pulled  on  a  corduroy  coat.  "Come  over  to 
supper,  Manning.  Too  much  advice  on  an  empty 
stomach  is  bad  for  the  digestion." 

Jim  followed  meekly  after  the  Big  Boss. 

Jim  reported  to  Charlie  Tuck,  the  head  draughts 
man  the  next  morning.  Tuck  was  a  plump,  middle- 
aged  man,  bald  headed  and  clean  shaven,  with  mild 
blue  eyes.  Jim  put  him  down  in  his  own  mind  as  a 
sissy  and  chafed  a  little  at  being  put  into  Tuck's  care. 
But  his  discontent  was  shortlived. 

Tuck  proved  to  be  a  hard  taskmaster.  Before  the 
end  of  the  week  Jim  realized  that  he  would  not  get  out 
of  Tuck's  hands  until  he  knew  every  inch  of  the  design 
of  the  great  dam  from  the  sluice  gates  anci  the  drain 
age  holes  to  the  complete  vertical  section.  He  had  no 
patience  with  mistakes  and  Jim  took  his  grilling  in 
silence,  for  the  fat  little  man  showed  a  deep  knowledge 
of  the  technical  side  of  dam  building  that  reduced  the 
cub  engineer  to  a  humble  pulp. 

Also,  Jim  discovered  that  Tuck  was  an  old  Yale  man 
and  that  his  avocation  in  life  seemed  to  be  tennis.  The 
engineers  had  a  good  court  in  the  woods  and  after 
Tuck  found  that  Jim  liked  the  game,  he  took  the  boy 
over  to  the  court  every  afternoon  before  supper  and 


THE    CUB    ENGINEER          81 

beat  him  with  monotonous  regularity.  And  Jim  was  a 
good  player. 

The  dam  was  far  from  civilization  and  the  engi 
neers  welcomed  Jim,  although  they  treated  him  with 
the  jocularity  that  his  youth  and  inexperience  de 
manded.  The  novelty  of  his  environment,  the  ro 
mance  of  the  great  gray  dam,  built  with  such  frightful 
risk  and  difficulty,  absorbed  Jim  for  the  first  week  or 
so.  He  had  no  thought  of  homesickness  until  the  ex 
citement  of  his  new  work  began  to  recede.  And  then, 
quite  unexpectedly,  it  descended  on  him  like  a  leaden 
cloud. 

The  longing  for  home !  The  helpless,  hopeless  sick 
ness  of  the  heart  for  dear  familiar  faces!  The  seeing 
of  alien  places  through  tear-dimmed  eyes,  the  answer 
ing  to  strange  voices  with  an  aching  throat,  and  the 
poignancy  of  memory!  Jim's  mind  dwelt  monoto 
nously  on  the  worn  spot  in  the  library  hearth  rug 
where  he  and  Uncle  Denny  had  spent  so  many,  many 
hours.  There  was  the  crack  in  the  brown  teapot  that 
his  mother  would  not  discard  because  she  had  poured 
Big  Jim's  tea  from  it.  There  was  Uncle  Denny's 
rich  Irish  voice,  "Ah,  Still  Jim,  me  boy !"  And  there 
was  Pen — dear,  dear  Penelope,  with  her  woman's  eyes 
in  her  child's  face — with  her  halo  of  hair.  Pen's 
"Take  me  with  you,  Still,"  was  the  very  peak  of  sor 
row  now  to  the  boy.  Jim  was  homesick.  And  he  who 
has  not  known  homesickness  does  not  know  one  of 
life's  most  exquisite  griefs. 

It  seemed  to  Jim  now  that  he  hated  the  Big  Coun 
try.  At  night  in  his  tent  he  was  conscious  of  the  giant 
dam  lying  so  silent  in  the  darkness  and  it  made  him 
feel  helpless  and  alone.  By  day  he  hid  his  unhappiness, 


82  STILL   JIM 

he  thought.  He  worked  doggedly  and  did  not  guess 
that  Charlie  Tuck  understood  that  many  times  he  saw 
the  designs  for  the  wonderful  bronze  gates  of  the 
sluicing  tunnel  over  which  Charlie  heckled  him  for 
days,  through  tear-dimmed  eyes. 

The  camp  was  lighted  by  electricity.  Jim  would  sit 
watching  the  lights  flare  up  after  supper,  watching  the 
night  shift  on  the  broad  top  of  the  dam  which  was  as 
wide  as  a  street  and  try  to  pretend  that  the  noise  and 
the  light  and  the  figures  belonged  to  23rd  street.  Jim 
was  sitting  so  in  the  door  of  his  tent  one  night  after 
nearly  a  month  in  camp.  He  held  his  pipe  but  could 
not  smoke  because  of  the  ache  in  his  throat.  He  had 
not  been  there  long  when  Charlie  Tuck  came  up  the 
trail  and  with  a  nod  sat  down  beside  Jim. 

"Let  me  have  a  light,"  he  said.  "The  fellows  are 
having  a  rough  house  over  in  the  office  tonight.  Why 
don't  you  go  over?" 

"I  don't  feel  like  it,  somehow,"  replied  Jim. 

Tuck  nodded.  "You  may  have  hated  New  York 
while  you  lived  there,  but  it  looks  good  now,  eh  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Jim. 

"You'll  feel  better  when  the  Boss  begins  to  give  you 
some  responsibility.  Were  you  ever  up  in  the  Makon 
country,  Manning?" 

"No,"  said  Jim. 

"Don't  strain  yourself  talking,"  commented  Tuck, 
sarcastically.  "You  are  rather  given  to  blathering,  I 
see.  Well,  the  Makon  country  wants  a  dam.  It  wants 
it  bad  but  the  Service  doesn't  see  how  to  get  in  there. 
There  is  a  big  valley  that  has  been  partially  farmed  for 
years.  It  is  enormously  fertile,  but  there  is  only 


THE    CUB    ENGINEER          83 

enough  water  in  it  to  irrigate  a  limited  number  of 
farms. 

"Now,  ten  miles  to  the  north,  is  the  Makon  river 
that  never  fails  of  water.  But  as  near  as  anyone  can 
find  out  the  only  feasible  place  for  damming  it  is  some 
where  in  a  beastly  canyon  that  no  man  has  ever  gone 
through  alive.  The  river  is  treacherous  and  the  coun 
try  would  make  this  look  as  well  manicured  as  the 
Swiss  Alps." 

Jim  listened  intently.  Charlie  Tuck  pulled  at  his 
pipe  for  a  time,  then  he  said :  "My  end  of  this  job  is 
about  finished.  I  like  the  exploring  end  of  the  work 
best,  anyhow.  I  was  with  the  Geological  Survey  for 
ten  years  before  the  Reclamation  Service  was  created. 
I  made  the  preliminary  surveys  for  this  project  and 
for  the  Whitson.  I  tell  you,  Manning,  that's  the 
greatest  work  in  the  world — getting  out  into  the  wil 
derness  and  finding  the  right  spot  for  civilization  to 
come  and  thrive.  There's  where  you  get  a  sense  of 
power  that  makes  you  feel  like  a  Pilgrim  Father.  The 
Reclamation  Service  is  a  great  pipe  dream.  Some  of 
the  finest  men  in  the  country  are  in  it  today  and  no 
body  knows  it." 

"Like  Mr.  Freet,"  said  Jim. 

Jim  thought  that  Tuck  hesitated  for  a  moment  be 
fore  he  answered.  "Yes,  and  a  dozen  others.  I  con 
sider  it  a  privilege  to  work  with  them.  Say,  Manning, 
if  some  way  they  could  find  the  right  level  in  that  can 
yon  and  drive  a  tunnel  through  its  solid  granite  walls, 
they  could  send  the  Makon  over  into  the  valley.7' 

"Why  doesn't  the  Service  send  a  man  to  explore  the 
crevice  ?"  asked  Jim. 

"That's  what  I  say!"  cried  Tuck.    "Just  because  a 


84  STILLJIM 

lot  of  cold  feet  claim  it  can't  be  done,  just  because  no 
man  has  come  through  that  crevice  alive,  is  no  reason 
one  won't.  Say,  Manning,  if  I  can  get  the  Service  to 
send  me  up  there,  will  you  go  with  me?" 

"Me!"  gasped  Jim. 

Tuck  nodded  in  his  gentle  way.  "Yes,  you  see  I 
like  you.  You  are  more  congenial  than  most  of  the 
fellows  here  to  me.  On  a  trip  like  that  you  want  to  be 
mighty  sure  you  like  the  fellow  you  are  going  to  be 
with.  Then  I  think  you  would  learn  more  on  a  trip 
like  that  than  in  a  year  of  the  sort  of  work  Freet  plans 
for  you.  And  last,  because  I  think  you've  got  the 
same  kind  of  feeling  for  the  Service  that  I  have 
though  you've  been  here  so  short  a  time.  It's  some 
thing  that's  born  in  you.  What  do  you  say,  Man 
ning?" 

Jim  never  had  felt  so  flattered  in  his  life.  And 
Adventure  called  to  him  like  a  ship  to  a  land-l«  ked 
mariner. 

"Gee!"  he  cried,  "but  you're  good  to  ask  me,  Mr. 
Tuck !  Bet  your  life  I'll  go !" 

Tuck  emptied  his  pipe  and  rose.  "I'll  go  see  Freet 
now  and  persuade  him  to  get  busy  with  the  Chief  in 
Washington.  One  thing,  Manning.  It  will  be  a  dan 
gerous  undertaking.  We  may  not  come  through  alive. 
You  must  get  used  to  the  idea,  though,  that  every 
Project  demands  its  toll  of  deaths.  People  don't  real 
ize  that.  Are  you  willing  to  go,  knowing  the  risk  ?" 

With  all  the  valor  of  youth  and  ignorance,  Jim  an 
swered,  "I'm  ready  to  start  now." 

Mr.  Freet  was  not  adverse  to  the  undertaking  and 
the  Washington  office  shrugged  its  shoulders.  The 
Project  engineer  talked  seriously  to  Jim,  though,  about 


THE    CUB    ENGINEER          85 

the  danger  of  the  mission  and  insisted  that  he  write 
home  about  it  before  finally  committing  himself. 
Jim's  letter  home,  however,  would  have  moved  a  far 
more  stolid  spirit  than  Uncle  Denny,  for  he  sketched 
the  danger  hazily  and  dwelt  at  length  on  the  honor 
and  glory  of  the  undertaking.  The  reply  from  the 
brownstone  front  was  as  enthusiastic  as  Jim  could 
desire. 

Tuck  undertook  the  preparations  for  the  expedition 
with  the  utmost  care.  Only  the  two  of  them  were  to 
go.  The  outfit  must  be  such  as  they  could  handle 
themselves,  yet  as  complete  as  possible.  Two  folding 
canvas  boats,  two  air  mattresses,  life  preservers,  water 
proof  bags,  first  aid  appliances,  brandy,  sweet  oil,  sur 
veying  implements,  food  in  as  compact  form  as  pos 
sible,  guns  and  fishing  tackle  made  a  formidable  pile 
for  two  men  to  manage.  But  at  Jim's  protest  Charlie 
answered  grimly  that  they  would  not  be  heavily  laden 
when  they  came  out  of  the  canyon. 

It  was  mid- August  when  the  two  men  reached  the 
Makon  country.  They  arranged  with  a  rancher  to 
take  them  and  their  outfit  up  to  the  river.  There  was 
no  road,  scarcely  even  a  trail  up  to  the  canyon.  The 
green  of  the  ranches  was  encircled  by  a  grease  wood- 
covered  plain  that,  toward  the  river,  became  rock  cov 
ered  and  rough  so  that  a  wagon  was  out  of  the  ques 
tion  and  the  sturdy  pack  horses  themselves  could  move 
but  slowly. 

Jim's  first  view  of  the  Makon  Canyon  was  of  a  black 
rift  in  a  rough  brown  sea  of  sand,  with  a  blue  gray  sky 
above.  As  the  little  pack  train  drew  nearer  he  saw 
that  the  walls  of  the  rift  were  weathered  and  broken 
into  fissures  and  points  of  seeming  impassable  rough- 


86  STILL   JIM 

ness.  So  deep  and  so  craggy  were  these  walls  that  the 
river  a  half  mile  below  could  be  seen  only  at  infre 
quent  intervals.  The  labor  of  getting  into  the  crevice 
would  be  quite  as  difficult,  Jim  thought,  as  going 
through  it. 

They  made  camp  that  night  close  beside  the  canyon 
edge.  Early  the  next  morning  the  rancher  left  them 
and  Charlie  and  Jim  prepared  to  get  themselves  and 
their  outfit  down  over  the  mighty,  bristling  walls. 
Lowering  each  other  and  the  packs  by  ropes,  sliding, 
rolling,  jumping,  crawling,  it  was  night  before  they 
reached  the  river's  edge,  where  they  made  camp. 
There  was  a  narrow  sandy  beach  with  a  cottonwood 
tree  growing  close  to  the  granite  wall.  Under  this 
they  put  their  air  mattresses  and  built  their  fire. 

Jim  did  not  like  the  feeling  of  nervousness  he  had  in 
realizing  how  deep  they  were  below  the  desert  and  how 
narrow  and  oppressive  were  the  canyon  walls.  He 
was  glad  that  the  strenuous  day  sent  them  off  to  bed 
and  to  sleep  as  soon  as  they  had  finished  supper.  They 
were  up  at  dawn. 

Charlie's  purpose  was  to  work  down  the  river,  sur 
veying  as  he  went  until  he  found  a  level  where  the 
river  would  flow  through  a  tunnel  out  onto  the  valley. 
And  this  level,  too,  must  be  at  a  point  where  construc 
tion  work  was  possible.  The  river  was  incredibly 
rough  and  treacherous.  From  the  first  they  packed 
everything  in  waterproof  bags.  The  canvas  canoes 
were  impractical.  The  river  was  full  of  hidden  rock 
and  by  the  third  day  the  second  canoe  was  torn  to 
pieces  and  they  were  depending  on  rafts  made  from 
the  air  mattresses. 

After  the  canoes  were  gone,  they  spent  practically 


THE    CUB    ENGINEER          87 

all  the  daylight  in  the  water,  swimming  or  wading 
and  towing  or  pushing  the  mattresses.  The  water  was 
very  cold  but  they  were  obliged  to  work  so  hard  that 
they  scarcely  felt  the  chill  until  they  made  camp  at 
night.  Jim  discovered  that  a  transit  could  be  used  in 
a  cauldron  of  water  or  on  a  peak  of  rock  where  a 
slip  meant  instant  death  or  clinging  to  steep  walls  that 
threatened  rock  slide  at  the  misplacing  of  a  pebble. 

One  arduous  task  was  the  locating  of  a  camp  at 
night.  The  second  night  in  the  camp  they  were  lucky. 
They  found  a  broad  ledge  in  a  spot  that  at  first  seemed 
hopeless,  for  the  blank  walls  appeared  here  almost 
to  meet  above  the  deep  well  of  water.  There  was  a 
little  driftwood  on  the  ledge  and  they  had  a  fire.  The 
following  two  nights  they  were  less  fortunate.  The 
best  they  could  find  were  chaotic  heaps  of  fallen  rock 
on  which  to  lay  their  mattresses,  and  they  slept  with 
extreme  discomfort. 

The  fifth  day  was  a  black  day.  They  were  swim 
ming  slowly  behind  their  laden  mattresses  through 
deep,  smooth  black  water  when,  without  warning,  the 
river  curved  and  swept  over  a  small  fall  into  heavy 
rapids.  Instantly  the  mattresses  were  whirling  like 
chips.  The  two  men  fought  like  mad  to  tow  them  to 
a  rock  ledge,  the  only  visible  landing  place  the  crevice 
had  to  offer.  But  long  before  this  haven  was  reached 
the  mattresses  were  torn  to  shreds  and  Jim  and  Charlie 
were  glad  to  reach  the  ledge  with  their  surveying  in 
struments  and  two  bags  of  "grub."  Here  they  sat 
dripping  and  exhausted.  It  was  nearly  dark.  Night 
set  in  early  in  the  canyon.  They  dared  not  try  to  look 
for  a  better  camping  ground  that  night.  The  ledge 


88  STILLJIM 

was  just  large  enough  for  the  two  of  them,  with  what 
remained  of  their  dunnage. 

Charlie  grinned.  "Welcome  to  our  city.  Well,  it's 
as  good  as  a  Pullman  berth  at  that." 

"And  no  harder  to  dress  on,"  said  Jim,  standing 
up  carefully  and  beginning  to  peel  off  his  wet  clothes. 
"I  guess  if  we  wring  these  duds  out  and  rub  with  alco 
hol,  they  won't  feel  so  cold." 

Charlie  rose  and  began  to  undress  gingerly.  "You 
can  stand  up  to  make  your  toilet,"  he  said,  "which  is 
more  than  the  Pullman  offers  you." 

They  ate  a  cold  canned  supper  and  afterward,  as 
they  sat  shivering,  Jim  said,  "If  we  fail  to  locate  the 
dam  site,  no  one  will  have  any  sympathy  with  our 
troubles." 

"We  will  find  it,"  said  Charlie  with  the  calm  cer 
tainty  he  never  had  lost.  "Jupiter  looks  as  big  as  a 
dinner  plate  down  here.  Sometimes  when  I  look  at 
the  stars  I  wonder  what  is  the  use  of  this  kind  of 
work." 

Jim  looked  up  at  the  stars  which  seemed  almost 
within  hand  touch.  Their  nearness  was  an  unspeak 
able  comfort  to  the  two  in  the  crevice.  He  spoke 
slowly  but  with  unusual  ease.  Charlie  Tuck  had  grown 
very  near  to  him  in  the  past  few  days. 

"I've  had  a  feeling,"  he  said,  "ever  since  we  actually 
got  down  here  and  on  the  job,  that  I'm  doing  the  thing 
I've  always  been  intended  to  do.  I  don't  know  how 
I  got  that  feeling  because  I've  always  lived  in  towns." 

"I  feel  that  way  every  time  I  go  out  exploring," 
answered  Tuck.  "I  can  stand  the  draughting  board 
just  so  long  and  then  I  break  loose.  I  suppose  some 
one  has  got  to  do  these  jobs  and  there  is  always  some- 


THE    CUB    ENGINEER          89 

one  willing  to  take  the  responsibility.     Kipling  calls  it 
being  a  Son  of  Martha.    Do  you  know  those  verses?" 
"No,"  said  Jim.    "I'd  like  to  hear  them." 
Charlie  chuckled.    "Me  reciting  Kipling  is  like  hear 
ing  a  'co-ed  yell' — it's  the  only  poem  I  know,  though, 
and  here  goes.    The  Sons  of  Martha 

' say  to  the  Mountains,  Be  ye  removed!     They  say  to  the 

lesser  floods,  run  dry ! 
Under  their  rods  are  the  rocks  reproved.     They  are  not  afraid 

of  that  which  is  high. 
Then  do  the  hilltops  shake  to  their  summits,  then  is  the  bed  of 

the  deep  laid  bare, 
That  the  Sons  of  Mary  may  overcome  it,  pleasantly  sleeping 

and  unaware. 

They  do  not  preach  that  their  God  will  rouse  them  a  little  before 

the  nuts  break  loose, 
They  do  not  teach  that  His  pity  allows  them  to  leave  their  work 

whenever  they  choose. 
As  in  the  thronged  and  the  lighted  ways,  so  in  the  dark  and 

the  desert  they  stand, 
Wary  and   watchful   all  their  days   that  their  brethren's   days 

may  be  long  in  the  land. 

Lift  ye  the  stone  or  cleave  the  wood  to  make  a  path  more  fair 

or  flat, 
Lo,  it  is  black  already  with  blood  some  Son  of  Martha  spilled 

for  that. 
Not  as  a  ladder  from  Earth  to  Heaven,  not  as  an  altar  to  any 

creed, 
But  simple  Service,   simply  given,  to  their  own  kind,  in  their 

common  need.'  " 

The  two  men  sat  in  silence  after  Charlie  had  fin 
ished  until  he  said :  "If  I  were  you  I'd  read  Kipling  a 
good  deal.  He's  good  food  for  a  man  of  your  type. 
People  don't  realize  what  their  comforts  cost.  I  hope 


90  STILL   JIM 

that  when  I  die  it  will  be  on  a  Son  of  Martha  job.  I'm 
built  that  way.  My  people  were  New  Englanders, 
then  middle  west  pioneers,  and  now  here  I  am,  still 
breaking  the  wilderness." 

Jim  sat  with  his  heart  swelling  with  he  knew  not 
what  great  dream.  It  was  the  divine  fire  of  young 
sacrifice,  the  subtle  sense  of  devotion  that  has  made 
men  since  the  world  began  lay  down  their  lives  for 
the  thing  not  seen  with  the  eye. 

"I  wish  you'd  teach  me  those  verses,"  said  Jim. 
"We've  got  to  keep  awake  or  roll  off  the  ledge." 

And  so  the  night  passed. 

The  next  day  the  way  was  unspeakably  difficult. 
They  made  progress  slowly  and  heavily,  clambering 
from  rock  to  rock,  clinging  to  the  walls,  fighting 
through  rapids.  It  was  past  mid  afternoon  when  they 
ran  a  level  in  a  spot  of  surpassing  grandeur.  A  rock 
slide  had  sent  a  great  heap  of  stone  into  the  river. 
Close  beside  this  they  set  the  transit.  Forward  the 
river  swept  smoothly  round  a  curve.  Back,  the  two 
looked  on  a  magnificent  series  of  flying  buttresses  of 
serrated  granite,  their  bases  guarding  the  river,  their 
tops  remotely  supporting  the  heavens.  The  buttresses 
nearest  the  rock  heap  and  on  opposite  sides  of  the 
river  were  not  two  rods  apart. 

They  ran  the  levels  carefully  and  then  looked  at  each 
other  in  silence.  Then  they  made  another  reading  and 
again  looked  at  each  other.  Then  they  packed  the 
transit  into  its  rubber  bag,  sat  down  on  the  rock  heap 
and  gazed  at  the  marching,  impregnable  line  of  but 
tresses. 

"It  will  be  even  higher  than  the  Green  Mountain 


THE   CUB   ENGINEER         91 

and  a  hundred  times  more  difficult  to  build,"  said 
Charlie,  softly. 

"She'll  be  a  wonder,  won't  she!"  exclaimed  Jim. 
"The  Makon  dam.  It  will  be  the  highest  in  the  world." 

"Granite  and  concrete !  Some  beauty  that !  Eternal 
as  the  hills!"  said  Charlie.  "We  will  make  camp  and 
finish  the  map  here." 

They  lay  long,  looking  at  the  stars  that  night. 
"Some  day,"  said  Jim,  "there  will  be  a  two  hundred 
feet  width  of  concrete  wall  right  where  we  are  lying. 
Doesn't  it  make  you  feel  a  little  hollow  in  your  stom 
ach  to  think  that  you  and  I  have  decreed  where  it  shall 
be?" 

"Yes,"  said  Charlie.  "It's  a  good  spot,  Manning.  I 
hope  I  get  a  chance  to  lay  out  the  road  down  here. 
They  will  have  to  blast  it  out  of  the  solid  granite.  It 
will  eat  money  up  to  make  it." 

"Let  me  in  on  it,  won't  you,"  pleaded  Jim. 

"Well,  slightly!"  exclaimed  Charlie.  "Now  for  a 
good  night's  sleep.  We  ought  to  be  out  in  three  days. 
That  will  make  ten  days  in  all,  just  what  I  planned." 

Jim  hardly  knew  Charlie  the  next  day.  No  college 
freshman  on  his  first  holiday  ever  acted  more  outra 
geously.  He  sang  ancient  college  songs  that  rever 
berated  in  the  canyon  like  yells  on  a  football  field.  He 
stood  solemnly  on  his  head  on  the  top  of  rock  pin 
nacles.  He  crowned  himself  and  Jim  with  wreaths 
made  of  water  cress  that  he  found  on  a  tiny  sandy 
beach.  W'hen  they  were  obliged  to  take  to  the  water 
he  pretended  that  he  was  an  alligator  and  made  un 
couth  sounds  and  lashed  the  water  with  the  grub  bag 
in  lieu  of  a  tail. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  while  they  were  swimming 


92  STILL    JIM 

through  a  whirlpool,  he  insisted  on  giving  Jim  a  lec 
ture  on  the  gentle  art  of  bee-hunting  as  he  had  seen 
it  practiced  in  Maine. 

"Now  we  will  pretend  that  I  am  the  bee !"  he  shout 
ed  at  Jim.  "You  will  admit  that  I  look  like  one!  I 
am  drunk  with  honey  and  I  hang  to  the  comb  thus!" 

He  caught  a  point  of  rock  with  one  hand  and  lazily 
waved  the  other. 

"This  is  my  proboscis,"  he  explained. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  be  careful !"  yelled  Jim.  "This 
is  no  blooming  ten-cent  show!  Keep  both  hands  on 
the  rock  and  climb  up  for  a  rest." 

Charlie  suddenly  went  white.  "God!  I've  got 
cramp!"  he  screamed.  "Both  legs.  Help  me,  Man 
ning!" 

He  struggled  to  get  his  free  hand  on  the  rock,  but 
the  water  tore  at  him  like  a  ravening  beast  and  he  lost 
his  hold.  Jim  swam  furiously  after  him.  The  white 
head  showed  for  a  moment,  then  disappeared  around 
a  turn  of  the  wall. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE  BROKEN  SEAL 

"When  I  was  young  I  thought  the  world  was  made 
for  love.     Now  I  know  that  love  made  the  world." 
MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 


HOW  he  passed  the  night  that  followed  Jim  never 
was  sure.  He  knew  that  he  fought  his  way 
down  stream  until  long  after  darkness  set  in.  Then, 
utterly  exhausted,  bleeding  and  bruised,  he  crawled 
up  onto  a  rock  under  the  wall  and  lay  dripping  and 
shivering  until  dawn. 

He  watched  the  light  touch  the  far  top  of  the  crev 
ice,  saw  the  azure  strip  of  the  sky  appear  and  then 
with  a  deep  groan  he  forced  himself  to  eat  from  his 
grub  bag  and  started  hurriedly  on  down  the  river. 
The  stream  was  much  deeper  below  the  point  of  the 
accident,  with  several  large  falls.  Jim  worked  his 
way  along  carefully,  swimming  or  floating  for  the 
most  part,  for  the  walls  for  many  miles  offered  not 
even  a  hand-hold  nor  did  they  once  give  back  in  beach 
or  eddy. 

The  loneliness  was  appalling.  The  hardship  of  the 
work  was  astonishingly  increased,  robbed  of  Tuck's 
unfailing  cheerfulness  and  faith.  There  was  one  mo 
ment  when,  toward  sunset,  Jim's  strength  almost  failed 

93 


94  STILL   JIM 

him.  The  walls  were  rougher  now.  He  had  found 
a  hand-hold  but  no  place  for  the  night.  He  clung 
here  until  his  exhausted  arms  were  able  to  endure  no 
more. 

"I  can't  do  any  more!"  panted  Jim.  "I'll  have  to 
go  down."  And  then  he  gave  a  little  childish  sob. 
"  'Hang  on  to  what  you  undertake  like  a  hound  to  a 
warm  scent,  Jimmy!'"  he  said,  brokenly.  And  new 
strength  flowed  into  his  arms  and  he  swam  on  for  a 
few  moments,  finding  then  a  bit  of  shore  on  which  to 
spend  the  night.  He  and  Charlie  had  each  carried  a 
map  and  a  set  of  instruments.  Jim  felt  that  he  bore 
now  not  only  his  own  but  Charlie's  responsibility  to 
deliver  the  maps  to  Freet.  As  he  lay  looking  up  at 
the  stars,  that  second  night  alone  in  the  crevice,  Jim 
realized  ever  since  he  and  Charlie  had  started  on  the 
expedition,  he  had  ceased  to  be  homesick.  He  realized 
this  when,  on  this  second  night,  he  tried  to  keep  his 
nerves  in  order  by  thinking  very  hard  of  home  and 
he  found  that  he  dwelt  most  on  Exham  and  his  father 
and  the  Sign  and  Seal  he  had  given  Penelope.  And 
that  while  he  longed  vaguely  for  the  old  brownstone 
front,  he  felt  with  a  sudden  invigorating  thrill  that  he 
belonged  where  he  was  and  that  he  was  nearer  to  Ex- 
ham  than  he  had  been  since  he  had  left  there. 

It  was  nearing  evening  of  the  fourth  day  after 
Charlie's  disappearance  that  Jim  suddenly  saw  the 
canyon  walls  widen.  He  struggled  at  last  up  onto  a 
sandy  beach  and  looked  about  him.  The  canyon  walls 
here,  though  very  rough,  gave  promise  of  access  to  the 
top.  Jim  examined  the  beach  carefully  for  trace  of 
Charlie  and,  finding  none,  he  prepared  to  spend  the 
night  in  resting  before  the  stiff  climb  of  the  next  day. 


THE    BROKEN    SEAL  95 

He  built  a  fire  and  ate  his  last  bit  of  grub,  a  small  can 
of  beans,  and  fell  asleep  immediately. 

At  dawn  the  next  morning  he  began  his  climb  up 
the  bristling  walls  of  the  canyon.  Eleven  days  before 
he  would  have  said  that  to  scale  these  sickening  heights 
was  impossible.  But  Jim  would  never  be  a  tenderfoot 
again.  He  had  been  on  short  rations  for  three  days 
and  was  weak  from  overwork.  But  he  had  a  canteen 
of  water  and  rested  frequently  and  he  went  about  the 
climb  with  the  care  and  skill  of  an  old  mountaineer. 
He  had  learned  in  a  cruel  school. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  he  crawled  wearily  over  one 
last  knife-edged  ledge  and  hoisted  himself  up  onto  the 
canyon's  top.  He  was  greeted  by  a  faint  shout. 

Three  men  on  horseback  were  picking  their  way 
carefully  toward  him.  Jim  waved  his  hand  and 
dropped,  panting,  to  await  their  arrival.  When  they 
were  within  speaking  distance,  he  rose  weakly  and 
called : 

"Where's  Charlie  Tuck?" 

The  three  men  did  not  answer  until  they  had 
dropped  from  their  horses  beside  Jim ;  then  the  rancher 
who  had  packed  the  expedition  to  the  crevice  said : 

"They  picked  his  body  up  near  Chaseville  this 
morning.  We  come  up  as  quick  as  \ve  could  for  trace 
of  you.  You  look  all  in.  Here,  Dick,  get  busy !  We 
brought  some  underclothes;  didn't  know  what  shape 
you'd  be  in.  Here  is  the  suit  you  left  at  my  place. 
God !  I  thought  you'd  never  need  it.  Billy,  start  a  fire 
and  cook  the  coffee  and  bacon.  You've  had  an  awrful 
experience,  Mr.  Manning,  I  guess.  You  don't  look 
the  tenderfoot  kid  that  went  into  the  canyon!" 

"We  found  the  dam  site,"  said  Jim  hoarsely. 


96  STILL   JIM 

"Don't  try  to  talk  till  you  get  some  grub,"  said  the 
man  called  Billy. 

Clothed  and  fed,  Jim  told  his  story,  a  little  brokenly. 
The  group  of  men  who  listened  were  used  to  hardy 
deeds.  They  had  seen  Nature  demand  her  toll  of 
death  again  and  again  in  the  wilderness.  And  yet  as 
they  sat  looking  at  the  young  fellow  with  his  gray 
eyes  shocked  and  grief-stricken  and  perceived  his  boy 
ish  idolatry  of  Charlie  Tuck,  something  like  moisture 
shone  in  their  eyes.  They  shook  hands  with  Jim 
when  he  had  finished,  silently  for  the  most  part,  though 
the  rancher  said : 

"You're  the  only  man  ever  came  through  there  alive. 
They  had  to  bury  Tuck  right  off.  They'd  ought  to 
build  a  monument  for  him.  Where  is  his  folks?" 

"He  had  none,"  said  Jim.  "I  want  to  put  up  his 
headstone  for  him,  and  I  know  just  what  lines  are 
going  to  be  put  on  the  stone." 

"They  ought  to  be  blamed  good,"  said  Dick. 

"What  are  they?"  asked  the  ranchman. 

Jim  sat  for  a  moment  looking  down  into  the  fear 
ful  depths  where  Charlie  and  he  had  lived  a  lifetime. 
Then  he  said : 

"  'Lift  ye  the  stone  or  cleave  the  wood,  to  make  a  path  more 

fair  or  flat, 
Lo,  it  is  black  already,  with  blood  some  Son  of  Martha  spilled 

for  that! 
Not  as  a  ladder  from  Earth  to  Heaven,  not  as  an  altar  to  any 

creed, 
But   simple    Service,   simply  given,   to   his   own  kind,   in  their 

common  need.' " 

And  so  Charlie  Tuck  crossed  the  Great  Divide. 
Jim  stopped  two  days  with  the  rancher  and  then 


THE    BROKEN    SEAL  97 

went  back  to  the  Green  Mountain  dam.  The  story  of 
the  trip  through  the  crevice  had  preceded  him.  The 
men  of  the  Service  were  inured  to  the  idea  of  the  sac 
rifice  of  blood  for  the  dams.  There  was  little  said, 
some  silent  handshakes  given,  and  they  ceased  to  haze 
Jim.  He  had  become  one  of  them. 

The  plans  for  the  preliminary  surveys  of  the  Makon 
Project  were  begun  at  once.  Jim  remained  at  Green 
Mountain  during  the  winter,  serving  his  apprentice 
ship  to  the  concrete  works  and  the  superintendent  as 
Mr.  Freet  had  planned.  But  in  the  spring  he  had  his 
wish  and  was  sent  to  lay  out  the  road  on  the  Makon 
project. 

All  this  time  letters  came  regularly  from  the  brown- 
stone  front,  but  they  were  from  Jim's  mother  and  his 
Uncle  Denny  for  the  most  part,  and  they  were  very 
silent  about  Penelope.  Jim  wrote  Pen  from  time  to 
time,  but  he  was  not  an  easy  writer  and  Pen  wrote  him 
only  gay  little  notes  that  were  very  unsatisfactory. 
But  Jim  was  absorbed  in  his  work  and  did  not  worry 
over  this. 

Mr.  Freet  explained  to  Jim  that  he  needed  an  "Old 
Timer"  in  laying  out  the  Makon  road  whose  practical 
experience  would  supplement  Jim's  theories.  When 
Jim  reached  the  survey  camp  in  the  Makon  valley  he 
found  waiting  for  him  a  small  man  of  about  fifty,  with 
a  Roman  nose,  bright  blue  eyes  and  a  shock  of  gray 
hair.  This  was  Iron  Skull  Williams,  whom  Freet  had 
described  in  detail  to  Jim  and  who  was  to  be  Jim's 
right  hand.  He  was  an  old  Indian  fighter.  The 
Apaches,  Freet  said,  had  given  him  his  nickname  be 
cause  they  claimed  he  would  not  be  killed.  Bullets 
glanced  off  his  head  like  rain.  Williams  was  an  ex- 


98  STILL  JIM 

pert  road  maker  and  had  worked  much  for  Freet  in 
various  parts  of  the  west. 

Jim  and  Williams  looked  each  other  over  carefully 
and  liked  each  other  at  once.  They  found  immedi 
ately  in  each  other's  society  something  very  choice. 
The  friendship  had  not  been  a  week  old  before  Iron 
Skull  had  heard  of  Exham  and  the  brownstone  front 
and  of  Penelope.  While  Jim  had  learned  what  no 
other  man  knew,  that  Williams'  life-long,  futile  pas 
sion  had  been  for  a  college  education  and  that  he  was 
a  bachelor  because  a  blue-eyed,  yellow-haired  girl  had 
been  buried  in  the  Arizona  ranges,  twenty-five  years 
before. 

Jim's  quiet  ways  and  silent  tongue  did  not  make  him 
an  easy  mixer.  The  opening  up  of  a  project  is  a  rough 
and  lonesome  job.  Running  surveys  through  unknown 
country  where  supplies  are  hard  to  get  and  distances 
are  huge,  makes  men  very  dependent  on  one  other 
for  companionship.  Jim  liked  the  young  fellows  who 
ran  the  road  surveys  with  him.  He  enjoyed  the 
"rough  necks,"  the  men  who  did  the  actual  building 
of  the  road.  They  all  in  turn  liked  Jim.  But  Jim  had 
not  the  easy  coin  of  word  exchange  that  makes  for 
quick  and  promiscuous  acquaintanceship.  So  he  grew 
very  dependent  on  Iron  Skull,  who,  in  a  way,  filled 
both  Sara's  and  Uncle  Denny's  place. 

The  old  Indian  fighter  had  that  strange  sense  of 
proportion,  that  eagle-eyed  view  of  life  that  the  desert 
sometimes  breeds.  All  the  love  of  a  love-starved  life 
he  gave  to  Jim. 

One  evening  in  April  Jim  came  in  from  a  hard  day 
on  horseback.  The  spring  rains  were  on  and  he  was 
mud-splashed  and  tired  but  full  of  a  great  content. 


THE    BROKEN    SEAL  99 

He  had  found  a  short  cut  on  the  crevice  end  of  the 
road  that  would  save  thousands  of  dollars  in  time  and 
material. 

He  lighted  the  lamp  in  his  tent  and  saw  a  letter  from 
Uncle  Denny  on  the  table.  There  was  nothing  unusual 
about  a  letter  from  Uncle  Denny  and  ordinarily  Jim 
waited  for  his  bath  and  clean  clothes  before  reading 
it.  But  this  time,  with  an  inexplicable  sense  of  fear, 
he  picked  it  up  and  read  it  at  once. 

"STILL  JIM,  MY  BOY: 

We've  had  a  blow.  All  the  year  Penelope  has  been  seeing 
Saradokis.  She  has  made  no  bones  of  it,  and  he  would  not  let 
her  alone.  I  could  do  nothing,  though  I  talked  till  I  was  no 
better  than  a  common  scold.  But  it  never  occurred  to  your 
mother  and  me  that  Pen  could  do  what  she  did. 

Day  before  yesterday,  just  at  noon,  she  called  me  up  at  the 
office  and  told  me  she  and  Sara  had  just  been  married  at  the 
Little  Church  Round  the  Corner  and  were  leaving  for  Montauk 
Point  in  Sara's  new  high  power  car.  She  rang  off  before  I 
could  answer. 

I  sat  at  my  desk,  paralyzed.  I  couldn't  even  call  your  mother 
up.  I  sat  there  for  half  an  hour,  seeing  and  hearing  nothing 
when  your  mother  called  me  up.  There  had  been  an  accident. 
Sara  had  disobeyed  a  traffic  policeman,  they  had  run  into  a 
truck  at  full  speed.  His  car  was  wrecked.  Pen  escaped  with  a 
broken  arm.  Sarah  had  been  apparently  paralyzed.  Pen  had  him 
brought  to  our  house. 

Well,  I  got  home.  It  has  been  a  fearful  two  days.  Sara  is 
hopelessly  paralyzed  from  the  waist  down.  He  may  live  for 
ever  or  die  any  time.  He  is  like  a  raving  devil. 

Pen — Still  Jim,  my  boy — Little  Pen  is  paying  a  fearful  price 
for  her  foolishness.  She  is  like  a  person  wakened  from  a 
dream.  She  says  she  cannot  see  what  made  her  give  in  to  Sara. 

I've  made  a  bad  job  of  telling  you  this,  Jimmy.  Your  mother 
says  to  tell  you  she  understands.  She  will  write  later. 

Love,  dear  boy,  from 

UNCLE  DENNY." 


ioo  STILLJIM 

Jim  crumpled  the  letter  into  his  pocket  and  dashed 
out  into  the  night.  For  hours  he  walked,  heedless  of 
rock  or  cactus,  of  rain  or  direction.  He  took  a  fiendish 
satisfaction  in  the  thought  of  Sara's  tragedy.  Other 
than  this  he  did  not  think  at  all.  He  felt  as  he  had 
at  his  father's  death,  rudderless,  derelict. 

It  was  dawn  when  Iron  Skull  found  Jim  sitting  on 
a  pile  of  rock  five  miles  from  camp.  He  put  his  hand 
on  Jim's  shoulder. 

"Boss  Still,"  he  said,  "what's  broke  loose?  I've 
trailed  you  all  over  the  state." 

Jim  looked  up  into  the  kindly  face  and  his  throat 
worked.  "Iron  Skull,"  he  got  out  at  last,  "my — my 
girl  has  thrown  me  down!" 

Williams  sat  down  beside  him.    "Not  Penelope?" 

Jim  nodded  and  suddenly  thrust  the  crumpled  letter 
into  his  friend's  hands.  In  the  dawn  light  Williams 
read  it,  cleared  his  throat,  and  said : 

"God!  Poor  kids!  I  take  it  your  folks  don't  like 
this  Sara,  though  you  never  said  so." 

Jim  put  his  hand  on  Iron  Skull's  knee.  "Iron 
Skull,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  "I'd  rather  see  Pen  laid  away 
there  in  the  Arizona  ranges  beside  your  Mary  than 
married  to  him.  He's  got  a  yellow  streak." 

The  two  sat  silent  for  a  time,  then  Williams  said : 
"This  love  business  is  a  queer  thing.  Some  men  can 
care  for  a  dozen  different  women.  But  you're  like  me. 
Once  and  never  again.  I  ain't  going  to  try  to  com 
fort  you,  partner.  I  know  you've  got  a  sore  inside 
you  that'll  never  heal.  It's  hell  or  heaven  when  a 

woman  gets  a  hold  on  your  vitals  like  that. My 

Mary — she  had  blue  eyes  and  a  little  brown  freckle  on 
her  nose — I  was  just  your  age  when  she  died.  And 


THE    BROKEN    SEAL          101 

I  never  was  a  kid  again.  You  gotta  face  forward, 
partner.  Work  eighteen  hours  a  day.  Marry  your 
job.  You  still  owe  a  big  debt  for  your  big  brain.  Go 
ahead  and  pay  it." 

Jim  did  not  answer,  but  he  did  not  remove  his  hand 
from  Williams'  knee,  and  finally  Williams  laid  a  hard 
palm  on  it.  They  watched  the  sun  rise.  The  rain  had 
ceased.  Far  to  the  east  where  the  little  camp  lay, 
crimson  spokes  shot  to  the  zenith.  Suddenly  the  sun 
rolled  above  the  desert's  brim  and  leading  straight  and 
level  to  its  scarlet  center  lay  the  road  that  Jim  was 
building. 

"It's  a  good  road,"  said  Jim  unevenly.  "It's  my 
first  one.  I'd  planned  to  show  it  to  her,  this  summer. 
And  now,  she'll  never  see  it — nor  any  of  my  work. 
Iron  Skull,  she  had  a  bully  mind.  Just  the  little  notes 
she's  sent  me,  show  she  got  the  idea  of  the  Projects. 
I  guess  I'm  a  quitter.  If  I  can't  keep  my  girl,  what's 
the  use  of  living?" 

The  old  Indian  fighter  nodded.  "Life  is  that  away, 
partner.  You  mostly  do  what  you  can  and  not  what 
you  dream.  Some  day  you'll  have  to  marry.  That's 
where  I  fell  down.  These  days  all  us  old  stock 
Americans  ought  to  marry.  First  you  marry  your 
job,  Boss  Still,  then  you  marry  a  mother  for  your 
children." 

Jim  shook  his  head.  "Pen's  thrown  me  down,"  he 
said  drearily. 

Iron  Skull  waited  patiently.  At  last  Jim  rose  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

"Thank  you,  \Villiams,"  he  said. 

"Don't    mention    it,"    said    Iron    Skull    Williams. 


102  STILL    JIM 

"Glad  to  do  it  any  time — that  is,  I  ain't  but — Hell,  you 
know  how  I  feel.    Come  home  for  some  breakfast." 

Before  he  went  to  work  that  day,  Jim  wrote  a  note 
to  Pen. 

"DEAR  PENELOPE:  If  there  is  anything  I  can  do,  send  for 
me.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  that  occasional  look  of  tragedy  in 
your  eyes  standing  for  fact.  I  shall  not  get  over  this.  Good-by, 
little  Pen! 

JIM." 

Pen's   answer  to  this  reached  Jim  the   following 
week. 

"DEAR  STILL:  There  is  nothing  you  or  anyone  else  can  do. 
Sara  and  I  must  pay  the  price  for  our  foolishness.  I  have 
learned  more  in  the  past  two  weeks  than  in  all  my  life  before. 
And  I  shall  keep  on  learning.  I  can't  believe  that  I'm  only 
eighteen.  Write  to  me  once  in  a  while. 

PENELOPE." 

This  was  Jim's  answer: 

"DEAR  PEN  :  Uncle  Denny  wrote  that  you  are  to  stay  with 
him  and  mother  and  that  Sara's  father  has  arranged  matters 
so  that  money  pinch  will  not  add  to  your  burdens.  We  three 
are  still  mere  kids  in  years  so  I  suppose  we  shall  get  over  our 
griefs  to  some  extent.  Let  me  keep  at  least  a  part  of  my  old 
faith  in  you,  Pen.  In  spite  of  the  Hades  you  are  destined  to 
live  through,  keep  that  fine,  sweet  spirit  of  yours  and  keep  that 
unwarped  clarity  of  vision  that  belonged  to  the  side  of  you,  you 
showed  me.  It  will  help  you  to  bear  your  trouble  and  I  need 
this  thought  of  you  as  much  as  Sara  needs  your  nursing.  I 
can't  write  you,  Pen,  but  wire  me  if  you  need  me. 

JIM." 

And  then,  as  Iron  Skull  had  bade  him,  Jim  married 
his  job. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  MAKON  ROAD 

"Always  the   strongest   coyote   makes   the   new  trail. 
The  pack  is  content  to  continue  in  the  old." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

THE  building  of  the  road  from  the  valley  to  the 
crevice  edge  was  not  a  difficult  task,  although 
the  country  was  rough.  The  material  for  making  the 
road  was  at  hand,  for  the  most  part,  and  by  the  end 
of  the  summer  there  was  a  broad  oiled  macadam  road, 
grade  carefully  proportioned  to  grade,  leading  to  the 
canyon's  brim.  It  was  a  road  built  to  withstand  the 
wear  of  thousands  of  tons  of  freight  that  must  be 
hauled  over  it. 

But  the  throwing  of  the  road  three  thousand  feet 
down  into  the  canyon  was  a  more  difficult  matter. 
Here  must  be  built  through  solid  granite  a  road  down 
which  mule  teams  could  haul  all  the  machinery  for 
the  making  of  the  dam  and  the  tunnel  and  all  the  neces 
sities  for  building  the  workingmen's  camp  in  the  can 
yon  bottom. 

It  must  be  wide  enough  to  safeguard  life.  It  must 
be  as  steep  as  the  mules  could  manage  in  order  to  save 
distance  and  cost.  It  must  be  strong  enough  to  carry 
enormous  weights.  Its  curves  must  accommodate 

103 


104  STILL   JIM 

teams  of  twenty  mules,  hauling  the  great  length  of 
beam  and  pipe  needed  in  the  work  below.  And  it 
must  be  a  road  that  would  endure  with  little  expense 
of  up-keep  as  long  as  the  dam  below  would  endure. 

It  was  not  a  complicated  engineering  feat.  But  it 
was  Jim's  first  responsible  job.  It  was  his  first  experi 
ence  in  handling  men  and  a  camp.  Moses,  showing  the 
children  of  Israel  the  way  across  the  desert,  could 
have  felt  no  more  pride  or  responsibility  than  did  Jim 
breaking  the  trail  to  the  Makon. 

The  crevice  road  was  blasted  from  the  granite.  It 
was  widened  to  hang  like  a  shelf  over  sickening  depths 
or  built  up  with  concrete  to  withstand  the  wash  from 
some  menacing  gorge,  or  tilted  to  cling  desperately  to  a 
blank  wall  that  offered  not  even  claw  hold  for  the 
eagles.  And  always  it  must  drop  with  a  grade  that 
took  no  account  of  return  freightage. 

"We'll  wear  the  machinery  out  and  leave  it  at  the 
bottom,"  Freet  had  said.  "Even  a  25  per  cent,  grade 
will  do  when  necessary.  Hustle  it  along,  Manning. 
I'll  be  ready  to  leave  the  Green  Mountain  by  the  time 
you  are  ready  for  me  at  the  Makon." 

And  Jim  hustled.  But  labor  was  hard  to  get.  The 
country  was  inaccessible  and  extraordinarily  lonely. 
There  was  no  place  for  women  or  children  until  the 
camp  in  the  canyon  should  be  built,  so  it  was  a  crowd 
of  wandering  "rough-necks"  who  built  the  road.  A 
few  were  friends  of  Iron  Skull,  who  followed  him 
from  job  to  job.  The  rest  were  tramp  workmen,  men 
who  had  toiled  all  over  the  world.  They  were  not  ho 
boes.  They  were  journeyman  laborers.  They  were 
world  workers  who  had  lent  willing  and  calloused 
hands  to  a  thousand  great  labors  in  a  thousand  places. 


THEMAKONROAD  105 

They  came  and  went  like  shifting  sands.  Jim  never 
knew  whether  he  would  wake  to  find  ten  or  a  hun 
dred  men  in  the  camp.  He  tried  for  a  long  time  to 
solve  the  problem.  Iron  Skull  considered  it  unsolv- 
able.  He  had  a  low  opinion  of  the  rough-neck.  At 
last  he  disappeared  for  a  couple  of  weeks  and  returned 
with  twenty-five  Indians.  They  were  Apaches  and 
Mohaves  under  the  leadership  of  a  fine  austere  old 
Indian  whom  Iron  Skull  introduced  to  Jim  as  "Suma- 
theek." 

"His  name  means  'I  don't  know,'  "  explained  Wil 
liams.  "It's  the  extent  of  his  conversation  with  the 
average  white  who  considers  an  Injun  sort  of  a  cross 
between  a  cigar  sign  and  a  nigger.  Him  and  I  did 
scout  service  together  for  ten  years  in  Geronimo's 
time.  He's  my  'blood'  brother,  which  means  we've 
saved  each  other's  lives.  He  knows  more  than  any 
two  whites.  Color  don't  make  no  difference  in  wis 
dom,  Boss  Still,  and  I  guess  the  Big  Boss  up  above 
must  have  some  quiet  laughs  at  the  airs  the  whites 
give  themselves." 

This  was  Jim's  introduction  to  another  friendship, 
though  it  was  slow  in  growth.  But  before  the  Makon 
was  finished  Jim,  in  the  long  evening  pipes  he  smoked 
under  the  stars  with  Suma-theek,  learned  the  truth  of 
Iron  Skull's  statements  as  to  the  Indian's  wisdom. 

The  evening  of  the  day  the  Indians  arrived,  a  short, 
heavy  man  came  to  Jim's  tent.  He  was  a  foreman 
and  a  good  one.  Jim  liked  his  voice,  which  had  a 
peculiar,  tender  quality,  astonishing  in  so  rough  a  man. 

"Hello,  Henderson,"  said  Jim.  "What  can  I  do 
for  you?" 


io6  STILLJIM 

"Us  boys  is  going  out  tomorrow.  We  ain't  going  to 
live  like  Injuns !" 

Jim's  heart  sank.  He  already  was  behind  on  the 
work.  "What's  the  matter  with  the  way  we  live?"  he 
asked. 

"Young  fella,"  said  the  man  pityingly,  "I've  worked 
all  over  the  world,  including  New  York.  And  I'm 
telling  you  that  when  you  try  to  mix  colors  in  camp, 
you've  got  to  grade  their  ways  of  living.  Now  I  went 
to  Mr.  Williams,  but  he's  one  of  these  queer  nuts  who 
thinks  what's  good  enough  for  an  Injun  is  good 
enough  for  anyone." 

Jim  knew  that  this  was  in  truth  Iron  Skull's  atti 
tude.  He  had  had  no  idea,  however,  that  it  might 
breed  trouble.  He  thought  rapidly,  then  spoke  slowly. 

"Look  here,  Henderson,  what  would  you  do  in  my 
place?  The  Director  of  the  Service  sends  out  word 
he'll  be  here  to  look  the  dam  site  over  next  month.  I 
want  to  get  the  road  ready  for  him  to  get  down  there. 
For  six  months  I've  tried  to  keep  a  hundred  white  men 
on  the  job  and  I  can't  do  it.  I'll  give  the  Indians  a 
camp  of  their  own.  But  will  that  keep  you  men  here  ?" 

Henderson  looked  at  Jim  keenly  to  see  whether  or 
not  Jim  was  sincerely  asking  his  advice.  Jim  sud 
denly  smiled  at  his  evident  perplexity  and  that  flash 
ing  wistful  look  got  under  the  red-faced  man's  skin. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "if  I  was  trying  to  keep  men  on  a 
job  I'd  make  things  pleasant  for  'em." 

"You  have  everything  I  have,"  said  Jim.  "I  eat 
with  you." 

"No,  we  ain't  got  all  you  have.  We  ain't  got  your 
job  and  your  chance.  You  get  homesick  yourself  even 
on  your  pay  and  your  chance.  What  do  you  think  of 


THE    MAKON    ROAD  107 

us  boys,  with  nothing  but  wages  and  a  kickout?  Let 
me  tell  you,  boss,  it's  the  man  that  takes  care  of  his 
men's  idle  hours  that  gets  the  work  out  of  'em." 

Jim  looked  at  the  camp.  It  was  merely  a  straggling 
line  of  tents  set  along  the  crevice  edge.  The  day's 
work  was  ended  and  the  men  lounged  listlessly  about 
the  tents  or  hung  over  the  corral  fence  where  the 
mules  munched  and  brayed.  At  that  moment  Jim 
made  an  important  stride  in  his  education  in  handling 
men.  He  saw  the  job  for  the  first  time  through  the 
workmen's  eyes.  Why  should  they  care  for  the  job? 

"Look  here,"  said  Jim,  "if  I  send  to  Seattle  and  get 
a  good  phonograph  and  a  couple  of  billiard  tables  and 
some  reading  matter  and  set  them  up  in  a  good  big  club 
tent,  will  you  agree  to  keep  a  hundred  men  on  the  job 
until  I  finish  the  road?" 

"Government  won't  pay  for  them,"  said  Henderson. 

"I'll  pay  for  them  myself,"  returned  Jim.  "I  tell 
you,  Henderson,  this  road  means  a  lot  to  me.  It's 
my — my  first  important  job  and  the  rest  of  my  work 
on  the  Makon  depends  on  it.  And — and  a  friend 
of  mine  lost  his  life  finding  the  dam  site  and  he  wanted 
to  build  this  road.  I  feel  as  if  I'm  kind  of  doing  his 
work  for  him.  If  doing  something  to  give  you  boys 
amusement  will  keep  you  here,  I'll  do  it  gladly.  I 
haven't  anything  to  save  my  money  for." 

Henderson  cleared  his  throat  and  looked  down  into 
the  awful  depths  of  the  Makon  Canyon.  "I  heard 
about  that  trip,"  he  said.  "If — if  you  feel  that  way 
about  it,  Mr.  Manning,  I  guess  us  boys  '11  stand  by 
you.  And  much  obliged  to  you." 

"I'm  grateful  to  you,"  exclaimed  Jim.  "Tell  the 
boys  the  stuff  will  be  here  in  less  than  a  month." 


io8  STILL   JIM 

There  was  a  noticeable  change  in  the  atmosphere 
of  the  camp  after  this  episode.  The  Indians,  in  their 
own  camp,  were  perfectly  contented  with  their  quar 
ters  and  their  hoop  game  and  "'kin-kan"  for  recrea 
tion.  The  phonograph  and  billiard  tables  arrived  on 
time  and  were  set  up  in  the  club  tent  and  Jim  and  his 
camp  began  to  do  team  work.  The  trouble  with  shift 
ing  labor  disappeared  except  for  the  liquor  trafficking 
that  always  hounds  every  camp.  From  dawn  until 
dark,  the  canyon  rang  periodically  with  the  thunder 
of  blasts.  Scoops  shrieked.  Mules  brayed.  Drivers 
yelled.  Pick  and  shovel  rang  on  granite. 

Jim  grew  to  know  every  inch  of  that  granite  wall. 
He  lived  on  the  road  with  the  men.  No  detail  of  the 
job  was  too  trivial  for  his  attention.  A  more  experi 
enced  man  would  have  left  more  to  his  foremen.  But 
Jim  was  new  to  responsibility  and  his  nervousness 
drove  him  into  an  intimate  contact  with  his  workmen 
that  was  to  stand  him  in  good  stead  all  his  life.  It 
was  in  building  this  road  on  the  Makon  that  Jim 
learned  the  hearts  of  those  who  work  with  their  hands. 

When  a  fearful  slide  cost  him  the  lives  of  two  men 
and  half  a  dozen  mules,  it  was  Jim  who,  in  his  boyish 
contrition  and  fear  lest  the  catastrophe  might  have 
been  due  to  his  lack  of  foresight,  insisted  on  first  test 
ing  the  wall  for  further  danger  and  risked  his  life  in 
doing  so.  When  a  cloudburst  sent  to  the  bottom  in  a 
half  hour  a  concrete  viaduct  that  had  taken  a  month 
to  build,  it  was  Jim  who  led  the  way  and  held  the 
place  at  the  head  of  the  line  of  men,  piling  up  sacks 
of  sand  lest  the  water  take  out  a  full  half  mile  of  the 
road.  He  dreamed  of  the  road  at  night,  waking 


THE    MAKON    ROAD  109 

again  and  again  at  the  thought  of  some  weak  spot  he 
had  left  unprotected. 

The  rough-necks  felt  Jim's  anxiety  and  it  proved 
contagious.  It  may  have  been  due  to  many  things,  to 
Jim's  youth  and  his  simple  sincerity,  to  his  example  of 
indefatigable  energy  and  his  willingness  to  work  with 
his  hands;  it  may  have  been  that  the  men  felt  always 
the  note  of  domination  in  his  character  and  that  that 
forced  some  of  the  cohesion.  But  whatever  the  causes, 
by  the  time  the  road  lay  a  coiling  thread  from  the  top 
of  the  crevice  to  the  spot  where  poor  Charlie  Tuck 
went  down,  Jim  had  built  up  a  working  machine  of 
which  many  an  older  engineer  would  have  been  proud. 

The  day  before  the  Director  and  Mr.  Freet  were  ex 
pected,  Jim  and  Iron  Skull  left  for  the  railway  station, 
twenty-five  miles  away,  to  meet  their  two  superiors. 
As  he  mounted  his  horse,  Jim  said  to  Iron  Skull : 

"I'm  a  little  worried  about  the  wall  at  the  High 
Point  curve." 

"So  am  I,"  answered  Iron  Skull.  "Shall  I  blast 
back?  I  don't  need  to  go  in  with  you." 

"No,"  replied  Jim.  "We  couldn't  clear  out  in  a 
week.  Wait  till  the  Big  Bosses  go." 

"Better  tend  to  it  now,"  warned  Iron  Skull. 

"I'll  risk  it,"  said  Jim.  And  he  rode  away,  Iron 
Skull  following. 

The  two  were  held  at  the  little  desert  station  for  a 
day,  waiting  for  the  two  visitors  who  were  delayed 
at  Green  Mountain.  They  returned  in  the  stage  with 
the  Director  and  Freet,  the  two  saddle  horses  lead 
ing  behind.  Just  about  a  mile  outside  the  camp  they 
were  met  by  Henderson,  mounted  on  one  of  the  huge 
mules,  that  shone  with  much  grooming. 


no  STILL    JIM 

The  stage  pulled  up  and  Henderson  dismounted  and 
bowed. 

"I  come  out  to  meet  you  gents,"  he  said,  in  his  ten 
der  voice,  "representing  the  Charles  Tuck  Club  of 
Makon,  to  tell  you  we  hope  you'd  not  try  to  go  down 
the  Canyon  this  afternoon,  as  us  citizens  of  Makon 
had  got  up  a  few  speeches  and  such  for  you." 

Jim  and  Iron  Skull  were  even  more  amazed  than 
the  two  visitors,  and  sat  staring  stupidly,  but  the  Di 
rector  rose  nobly  to  the  occasion. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "What  is  the  Charles  Tuck 
Club?" 

Henderson  mounted  his  mule  and  rode  on  the  Di 
rector's  side  of  the  stage. 

"It's  the  club  we  formed  for  using  the  phonograph 
and  billiard  tables  the  Boss  give  us.  If  you  gents 
don't  care,  I'll  ride  ahead  and  tell  'em  you're  coming." 

"Gee!"  exclaimed  Jim,  as  the  mule  disappeared  up 
the  broad  ribbon  of  road.  "What  do  you  suppose  they 
are  up  to?" 

"This  is  going  some  for  a  small  camp!"  said  the 
Director.  "The  men  usually  don't  care  whether  I 
come  or  go." 

Jim  shook  his  head.  They  reached  the  camp  shortly 
after  Henderson  and  were  led  by  that  gentleman  to 
the  club  tent,  where  fully  half  the  camp  was  gathered. 
The  phonograph  was  set  to  going  as  they  came  in  and 
following  this,  Baxter,  the  orator  of  the  camp,  got  up 
and  made  a  speech  of  welcome  that  consumed  fifteen 
minutes  of  time  and  his  entire  vocabulary.  It  was 
concerned  mostly  with  praises  of  Jim  and  his  work 
with  the  men.  When  he  had  finished,  the  phonograph 
gave  them  "America"  by  a  very  determined  male  quar- 


THE    MAKON    ROAD  MB 

tet.  The  perspiring  Henderson  then  led  them  to  the 
mess  tent,  where  a  late  dinner  or  an  early  supper  was 
set  forth  that  had  taxed  the  resources  of  the  desert 
camp  to  its  utmost. 

It  was  dusk  when  the  meal  was  finished,  and  then 
and  then  only  did  Henderson  allow  Iron  Skull  to  lead 
the  visitors  to  their  tents  while  he  took  Jim  by  the 
arm  and  drew  him  to  the  crevice  edge. 

"Boss,"  he  said,  "not  half  an  hour  after  you  left, 
the  whole  dod  dinged  wrall  on  the  High  Point  curve 
slid  out.  Well,  sir,  we  all  know'd  there'd  be  hell  to 
pay  for  you  if  the  two  Big  Bosses  come  and  see  that. 
We  couldn't  stand  for  it  after  all  you'd  worried  over 
it.  We  fixed  up  three  shifts.  It's  moonlight  and,  say, 
if  we  didn't  push  the  face  off  that  slide !  Old  Suma- 
theek,  why  he  never  let  his  Injuns  sleep!  They 
worked  three  shifts.  Even  at  that  you'd  a  beat  us  to  it 
if  we  hadn't  thought  of  this  here  committee  of  wel 
come  deal.  If  I  do  say  it,  I've  mixed  with  good  people 
in  my  time.  We  kept  the  big  mitts  in  there  and  one 
of  the  Injuns  just  brought  me  word  the  road  was 
clear." 

Jim  stared  at  his  rough-neck  friend  for  a  minute, 
too  moved  to  speak.  Then  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"Henderson,  you've  saved  me  a  big  mortification. 
I  knew  that  wall  should  have  been  blasted  back.  Gee ! 
Henderson!  I'll  remember  this!" 

"You're  welcome,"  replied  Henderson  gently. 
"Don't  let  on  to  anyone  but  Williams  and  us  fellows 
is  mum." 

And  so  the  Director  made  his  trip  down  and  up  the 
Makon  Road  and  praised  much  the  forethought  and 
care  that  Jim  had  expended  on  it.  And  Jim,  because 


112  STILL    JIM 

the  secret  meant  so  much  to  his  men,  did  not  tell  of 
their  devotion  until  the  Director  had  gone  and  Arthur 
Freet  was  established  on  the  job.  And  after  he  had 
heard  the  story  Freet  said,  looking  at  Jim  keenly : 

"You  know  what  that  kind  of  carelessness  deserves, 
Manning?" 

Jim  nodded  and  Freet  laughed  at  his  serious  face. 
"Pshaw,  boy!  Your  having  gotten  together  an  or 
ganization  with  that  sort  of  motive  power  would 
offset  worse  carelessness  than  that.  Get  ready  to 
shove  them  into  the  tunnel." 

So  Jim's  rough-necks  began  to  open  the  tunnel. 

The  Makon  Project  was  a  six  years'  job.  Freet 
gave  Jim  a  chance  at  every  angle  of  the  work.  Jim 
admired  his  chief  ardently  and  yet  the  two  never  grew 
confidential.  Freet,  in  fact,  had  no  confidants  among 
the  government  employees,  but  he  seemed  to  know  a 
great  many  of  the  politicians  of  the  valley  and  of  the 
state.  And  when  he  was  not  too  deeply  immersed  in 
the  work  at  hand  Jim  felt  vaguely  troubled  by  this. 

And  the  problems  of  actual  construction  were  so 
many  that  the  dam  and  tunnel  were  completed  and 
Jim  had  begun  work  on  the  ditches  before  he  realized 
that  there  was  a  whole  group  of  questions  he  must 
face  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  technical  engineer 
ing. 

For  the  first  mile  the  tunnel  had  to  be  driven 
through  solid  granite.  Then  the  way  led  through 
adobe  hills,  so  soft  that  the  sagging  walls  were  a  con 
stant  menace.  Not  until  six  workmen  had  died  at  the 
job  was  the  adobe  finally  sealed  with  concrete.  After 
the  adobe  came  sand,  spring  riddled.  More  rough- 


THE    MAKON    ROAD  113 

necks  gave  up  their  lives  fighting  the  gushing  floods 
and  falling  walls,  until  at  last  the  tunnel  emerged  into 
the  open  foothills  of  the  valley. 

During  all  this  time,  the  men  for  whom  Jim  had 
spent  his  first  savings  stayed  solidly  by  him,  save  those 
whom  death  called  out.  After  the  camp  in  the  can 
yon  was  built,  many  of  them,  including  Henderson,  de 
veloped  unsuspected  families  and  Jim  became  god 
father  to  several  namesakes.  After  the  road  was  fin 
ished,  however,  old  Suma-theek  had  to  take  his  braves 
back  to  the  Apache  country.  They  did  not  like  the 
work  in  the  tunnel,  and  it  was  several  years  before  Jim 
saw  his  old  friend  again. 

Uncle  Denny  and  Jim's  mother  came  out  to  visit 
him,  his  second  summer  on  the  dam,  and  they  enjoyed 
their  visit  so  much  that  it  became  a  yearly  custom. 

Jim's  mother,  with  a  mother's  wisdom,  never  spoke 
of  Pen  to  Jim  except  casually,  of  her  health  or  of 
Sara's  effort  to  carry  on  real  estate  business  through 
Pen  and  his  father.  On  the  first  visit  Uncle  Denny 
undertook  to  tell  Jim  of  how  the  accident  had  de 
veloped  all  the  latent  ugliness  of  Sara's  character  and 
of  his  heavy  demands  on  Penelope's  strength  and  time. 
And  he  told  Jim  how  Pen's  girlishness  had  disap 
peared,  leaving  behind  a  woman  so  sweet,  so  patient, 
so  sadly  wise,  that  Uncle  Denny  could  not  speak  of  her 
without  his  voice  breaking. 

But  Uncle  Denny  never  repeated  this  recital,  for 
before  he  had  finished,  Jim,  white-lipped,  had  said 
hoarsely,  "Uncle  Denny,  I  can't  stand  it!  I  can't!" 
and  had  rushed  off  into  the  desert  night. 

Even  Uncle  Denny  could  not  know,  as  Iron  Skull 
who  had  lived  with  him  for  the  past  years  knew,  of 


114  STILL    JIM 

Jim's  silent  anguish  in  the  loss  of  Penelope.  There 
was  a  little  picture  of  Pen  in  tennis  clothes  at  sixteen 
that  always  was  pinned  to  Jim's  tent  wall.  Once  in  a 
while  when  Iron  Skull  found  him  looking  at  it,  Jim 
would  tell  him  of  Pen's  beauty.  But  other  than  this 
he  never  mentioned  her  name  to  anyone. 

Under  the  excitement  of  what  Uncle  Denny  told 
him,  Jim  wrote  a  note  to  Pen : 


"DEAR  LITTLE  PEN:  This  desert  country  claims  one's  soul  as 
well  as  one's  body.  It  is  as  big  as  the  hand  of  God.  If  life 
gets  too  much  for  you  in  New  York,  come  to  me  here,  and  I 
will  show  you  and  the  desert  to  each  other.  JIM." 

And  though  Pen  did  not  answer  the  note  she  carried 
it  next  her  heart  for  many  a  day. 

After  the  tunnel  was  delivering  water  to  the  valley, 
Jim  moved  into  the  valley  with  his  henchmen  and  took 
charge  of  the  canal  building.  Not  until  he  undertook 
this  work  did  he  realize  that  there  were  economic  fea 
tures  connected  with  the  work  on  the  Projects  that 
were  baffling  and  irritating. 

The  conditions  in  the  valley  were  complex.  A  small 
portion  of  it  had  been  farmed  for  many  years.  These 
farmers  felt  that  the  canals  ought  to  come  to  them 
first.  As  soon  as  it  had  become  known  that  the  Rec 
lamation  Service  was  to  undertake  the  Makon  pro 
ject,  real  estate  sharks  had  gotten  control  of  much 
land  and  by  misinforming  advertisements  had  induced 
eastern  people  to  buy  farms  in  the  valley. 

Other  people,  sometimes  farmers,  oftener  folk  who 
had  failed  in  every  other  line  of  business,  took  up  land 
long  before  even  the  road  to  the  dam  was  finished. 


THE    MAKON    ROAD  115 

These  people  waited  in  a  pitiful  state  of  hardship  five 
years  for  water.  They  blamed  the  Service  and  they 
fought  for  first  water. 

There  were  Land  Hogs  in  the  valley ;  men  who  by 
illegal  means  had  acquired  thousands  of  acres  of  land, 
although  the  law  allowed  them  but  one  hundred  and 
sixty  acres.  After  the  Project  was  nearing  comple 
tion  these  Land  Hogs  sold  parcels  of  their  land  at  in 
flated  prices.  The  Land  Hogs  were  wealthy  and  had 
influence  in  the  community.  They  threatened  trouble 
if  canals  were  not  built  first  to  them. 

Jim  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  the  contending  forces. 
His  reply  was  the  same  to  each : 

"There  is  just  one  way  to  build  a  canal  and  that  is 
where,  influenced  only  by  the  lie  of  the  land,  it  will  do 
the  greatest  good  to  the  greatest  number.  I'm  an  engi 
neer,  not  a  politician.  Get  out  and  let  me  work." 

Yet  for  all  his  deaf  ear,  there  percolated  to  Jim's 
inner  mind  facts  and  insinuations  that  disturbed  him. 
Day  after  day  there  poured  into  his  office  not  only 
complaints  about  the  actual  work,  but  accusations  of 
graft.  "The  Service  was  working  for  the  rich  men 
of  the  valley."  "The  Service  had  its  hand  behind  its 
back."  "The  Service  was  extravagant  and  wasteful 
of  the  people's  money."  "Every  cent  that  the  Project 
cost  must  be  paid  back  by  the  farmers.  What  right 
had  the  Service  to  make  mistakes?" 

In  all  the  cloud  of  complaints,  Jim  maintained  a 
persistent  silence  and  placed  his  canals  without  fear 
or  favor.  One  morning  in  March,  it  was  Jim's  fifth 
year  on  the  Makon,  Mr.  Freet  sent  for  him. 

"Manning,"  he  said,  as  Jim  dropped  off  his  horse 


ii6  STILL    JIM 

and  stood  in  the  doorway,  "how  about  the  canal 
through  Mellin's  place?" 

Jim  tossed  his  hair  back  from  his  face  and  lighted 
a  cigarette.  "Mellin,  the  Land  Hog?"  he  asked. 
"Well,  his  canal's  like  the  apple  core.  There  ain't 
going  to  be  one!" 

Freet's  small  black  eyes  met  Jim's  clear  gaze  lev- 
elly.  "Why?"  he  asked. 

Jim  looked  surprised.  "Why,  you  know,  Mr.  Freet, 
that  to  run  it  through  Mellin's  place  will  cost  $5,000 
more  and  will  force  half  a  dozen  farmers  to  double 
the  length  of  their  ditches.  The  lie  of  the  canal  in 
relation  to  grade,  too,  is  a  half  mile  east  of  Mellin's 
place." 

Arthur  Freet  raised  his  eyebrows.  "I  think  that  the 
canal  had  better  go  through  Mellin's  place." 

Jim  drew  a  quick  breath.  There  was  silence  in  the 
little  sheet  iron  office  for  a  moment  and  then  Jim  said, 
"I  can't  do  it,  Mr.  Freet." 

"This  is  not  a  matter  for  you  to  decide,  Manning," 
replied  Freet.  "A  man  in  my  position  has  more  to 
consider  in  building  a  dam  than  the  mere  engineering 
'best.'  I  must  think  of  the  tactful  thing,  the  thing  that 
will  save  the  Service  trouble.  Mellin  has  pull  with 
Congress,  enough  to  start  an  investigation." 

"Let  them  investigate!"  cried  Jim.  "I'd  like  them 
to  see  what  I  call  some  darn  good  engineering!  I  do 
think  you  got  soaked  on  some  of  the  contract  work, 
though.  Those  permanent  caretakers'  houses  could 
have  been  built  for  half  the  price." 

Freet  raised  his  eyebrows.  "Put  the  canal  through 
Mellin's  place,  Manning." 

Jim  flushed.    "I  can't  do  it !    The  west  canal  had  to 


THE    MAKON    ROAD  117 

go  through  that  Land  Hog  Howard's  place,  I'm  sorry 
to  say.  It  was  the  cheapest  and  best  site.  Every 
farmer  in  the  valley  dressed  me  down  about  it,  in  per 
son  and  by  mail.  But  I  haven't  cared !  It  was  the  right 
thing.  But  nothing  doing  on  Mellin's  place." 

Freet  smiled  a  little.  "Do  you  want  me  to  go  over 
your  head?" 

Jim  gave  him  a  clear  look.  "You  can  have  my  res 
ignation  whenever  you  want  it,  Mr.  Freet." 

And  Jim  mounted  and  rode  heavily  back  to  his 
office. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  STRENGTH  OF  THE  PACK 

"The  lone  hunter  finds  the  best  hunting  but  he  must 
fight  and  die  alone." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

THAT  night,  when  Iron  Skull  Williams  stopped 
at  Jim's  tent  to  speak  of  some  detail  of  the 
work,  Jim  told  him  about  the  conversation  with  Freet. 

"Iron  Skull,"  he  said  in  closing,  "if  I've  got  to  mix 
up  in  politics,  I'll  quit,  that's  all.  It's  not  my  idea  of 
engineering.  My  heavens!  If  the  engineers  of  the 
country  are  not  going  to  be  left  unsmirched  to  do  their 
work,  what's  going  to  become  of  civilization?  You 
know  how  I've  always  admired  Arthur  Freet.  You 
know  how  I  appreciate  the  chances  he's  given  me  to  get 
ahead.  And  now " 

Iron  Skull  grunted.  "I  guess  he  hasn't  hurt  his  own 
reputation  any  by  letting  you  do  a  lot  of  his  work  for 
him  while  he  played  another  end  of  the  game.  You 
are  a  great  pipe  dreamer,  Boss  Still.  You  want  to  re 
member  that  the  Service  is  made  up  of  human  be 
ings." 

"Do  you  mean  there  is  graft  in  the  Service?"  asked 
Jim  sharply. 

us 


STRENGTH    OF   THE   PACK     119 

The  older  man  answered  gently,  for  he  knew  he 
was  hurting  Jim.  "The  Service  is  the  cleanest  bureau 
in  the  government.  I'll  bet  you  can  count  on  one  hand 
the  men  in  it  who  don't  toe  quite  straight." 

Jim  drew  a  quick  breath.  "I  don't  believe  there  is 
a  crook  in  the  Service." 

"How  about  the  sale  of  the  water  power  up  at  Green 
Mountain?"  asked  Williams.  "Do  you  think  that  was 
an  open  deal?  Did  the  farmers  have  their  chance?" 

Jim  flushed.  "I  never  let  myself  think  about  it,"  he 
muttered. 

Iron  Skull  nodded.  "You've  lived  in  a  fool's  para 
dise,  Boss  Still,  and  I  for  one  don't  see  that  you  help 
the  Service  by  shutting  your  eyes.  You  know  as  well 
as  I  do  that  the  Unitel  States  Reclamation  Service  is 
developing  some  mighty  important  water  power  propo 
sitions.  Do  you  think  it's  like  poor  old  human  nature 
to  argue  that  the  Water  Power  Trust  ain't  going  to  get 
hold  of  that  power  if  it  can  or  try  to  destroy  the  Serv 
ice  if  it  can't?" 

Jim  rubbed  his  forehead  drearily.  "Iron  Skull, 
isn't  there  anything  a  fellow  can  keep  his  faith  in?" 

"Pshaw!"  answered  Williams,  "you  can  keep  your 
faith  in  the  Service !  This  here  is  just  like  finding  out 
that,  though  your  wife  is  a  mighty  fine  woman,  she 
has  her  weak  points !" 

Jim  stared  at  the  lamp  for  a  long  time. 

"What  you  looking  at,  partner?"  asked  Iron  Skull. 

"Oh,  I  was  seeing  the  Green  Mountain  dam  the 
way  I  first  saw  it  and  I  was  seeing  Charlie  Tuck  and 
those  days  of  ours  in  the  canyon  and  thinking  of  what 
he  said  about  the  Service.  He  believed  in  it  the  way  I 
have.  And  then  I  was  thinking  about  the  bunch  of 


120  STILL    JIM 

men  who've  stuck  together  and  by  me  for  five  years, 
like  a  pack  of  wolves,  by  jove!  And  I  was  thinking 
of  those  lines,  you  know,  'The  strength  of  the  pack 
is  the  wolf  and  the  strength  of  the  wolf  is  the  pack.' 
That  is  what  the  Service  ought  to  be  like,  the  Pack, 
and  if  one  man  goes  bad  the  strength  of  the  pack  is 
hurt." 

The  older  man  nodded.  Then  he  said,  "What  are 
you  going  to  do  about  it  all,  Boss  Still?" 

Jim  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table.  "I'm  an 
engineer.  I  deal  with  hard  facts,  not  intrigues.  Freet 
must  take  me  so  or  not  at  all." 

"Well,  you  are  half  right  and  half  wrong,"  com 
mented  Iron  Skull,  rising. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Jim. 

"I  mean  that  you  have  got  an  awful  lot  to  learn 
yet  before  you  will  be  of  big  value  to  the  Service,  but 
you've  got  to  learn  it  with  your  elbows  and  sweating 
blood.  You're  that  kind.  Nothing  I  can  say  will 
help  you.  Good  night,  partner !" 

The  next  morning  Jim  reported  at  Freet's  office. 
"Mr.  Freet,"  he  said  carefully,  "I  have  a  lot  of  pride 
in  the  reputation  of  the  Reclamation  Service.  If  we 
put  a  canal  through  Mellin's  place  it'll  give  people  a 
real  cause  for  complaint.  I  shall  have  to  resign  if  you 
insist  on  my  doing  it." 

Freet  laughed  sardonically.  "The  Service  can't  af 
ford  to  lose  you,  even  if  you  do  live  in  the  clouds! 
Why,  I  broke  you  in  myself,  Manning,  and  you  are 
one  of  the  best  men  in  the  Service  today,  bar  none. 
We  will  let  the  Mellin  matter  rest  for  a  while." 

Jim  blushed  furiously  under  his  chief's  praise  and 
with  a  brief  "Thank  you,"  he  turned  away. 


STRENGTH    OF   THE   PACK     121 

It  was  a  little  over  two  months  later  that  Jim  re 
ceived  an  order  from  Washington  to  proceed  to  the 
Cabillo  Project  in  the  Southwest.  The  engineer  in 
charge  there  was  in  poor  health  and  Jim  was  to  act 
as  his  assistant.  Jim  was  torn  between  pleasure  at  his 
promotion  and  displeasure  over  Freet's  obvious  pur 
pose  of  getting  him  away  from  the  Makon. 

But  the  utter  relief  in  not  having  to  fight  the  Mellin 
matter  to  a  finish  triumphed  over  the  displeasure  and 
Jim  left  the  Makon  for  the  Southwest  with  Iron  Skull, 
while  trailing  after  him  came  the  Pack  who,  to  a  man, 
suddenly  felt  an  ovenvhelming  desire  to  winter  in  the 
desert. 

Jim  missed  the  Makon  very  much  at  first.  He  had 
all  the  love  of  a  father  for  his  first  born  for  the  Pro 
ject,  for  which  Charlie  Tuck  had  died.  At  first,  he 
felt  very  much  a  stranger  on  this  new  Project.  Watts, 
the  engineer  in  charge,  was  a  sick  man.  He  was  a 
gentle,  lovable  fellow  of  fifty,  and  he  was  taking  very 
much  to  heart  the  heckling  that  the  Service  was  receiv 
ing  on  his  Project.  His  illness  had  caused  the  work 
on  the  dam  to  fall  behind.  Jim  closed  his  ears  and 
his  mouth,  placed  Iron  Skull  and  his  Pack  judiciously 
on  the  works  and  started  full  steam  ahead  to  build 
the  Cabillo  dam. 

Six  months  after  Jim's  arrival  Watts  died  and  Jim 
succeeded  to  his  job,  which  day  by  day  grew  more 
complicated.  The  old  simple  life  of  the  Makon  when, 
heading  his  faithful  rough-necks,  Jim  ate  up  the  work, 
with  no  thought  save  for  the  work,  was  gone.  Jim's 
job  on  the  Cabillo  was  not  that  of  engineer  alone. 
He  had  not  only  to  build  the  dam  but  to  rule  an  or 
ganization  of  two  thousand  souls.  He  was  sole  ruler 


122  STILL    JIM 

of  an  isolated  desert  community  and  he  was  the  buffer 
between  the  office  at  Washington  and  all  the  contend 
ing  and  jealous  forces  that  were  rapidly  developing  in 
the  valley. 

The  United  States  Reclamation  Service  is  in  the 
Department  of  the  Interior.  Jim  had  been  at  Cabillo 
two  years  when  the  new  Secretary  of  the  Interior  sum 
moned  him  to  Washington. 

The  new  Secretary  had  found  his  office  flooded 
with  complaints  about  the  Reclamation  Service.  He 
had  found,  too,  a  report  from  the  Congressional 
Committee  which  had  the  year  before  investigated 
several  of  the  Projects.  Being  of  a  patient  and  in 
quiring  turn  of  mind,  the  Secretary  had  decided  to  go 
to  the  heart  of  the  matter.  Therefore  he  invited  the 
complainants  to  come  to  Washington  to  see  him.  He 
summoned  the  Director  and  Jim  with  several  other  of 
the  Project  engineers,  Arthur  Freet  among  them,  to 
appear  before  him,  with  the  complainants. 

May  in  Washington  is  apt  to  be  very  warm,  al 
though  very  lovely  to  look  upon.  Jim,  so  long  accus 
tomed  to  the  naked  height  and  sweep  of  the  desert 
country,  felt  half  suffocated  by  the  low  hot  streets 
of  the  capitol.  He  went  directly  from  the  train  to  the 
Hearing,  which  was  held  in  one  of  the  Secretary's 
offices.  The  room  was  large  and  square,  with  a  desk 
at  one  end,  where  the  Secretary  was  sitting.  When 
Jim  entered,  the  place  already  was  filled  to  overflow 
ing  with  irrigation  farmers  or  their  lawyers,  with  land 
speculators,  with  Congressmen  and  reporters. 

The  Secretary  was  a  large  man  with  a  smooth  sha 
ven,  inscrutable  face  and  blue  eyes  that  were  set  far 
apart  under  overhanging  brows.  He  looked  at  Jim 


STRENGTH   OF   THE   PACK     123 

keenly  as  the  young  engineer  made  his  way  to  his  seat 
in  the  front  of  the  room.  He  saw  the  same  Jim  that 
had  said  good-bye  to  the  little  group  in  the  station 
eight  years  before ;  the  same  Jim,  with  some  important 
modifications. 

He  was  tanned  to  bronze,  of  course.  He  had  sun 
wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  His  mouth  was 
thinner  and  the  corners  not  so  deep.  The  old  scowl 
between  his  eyes  had  traced  two  permanent  lines  there. 
The  mass  of  brown  hair  still  swept  his  dreamer's  fore 
head.  His  jaws  had  become  the  jaws  of  a  man  of 
action. 

Jim  sat  down,  folded  his  arms  and  crossed  his  knees, 
fixing  his  gaze  on  the  patch  of  blue  sky  above  the 
building  opposite  the  open  window.  For  five  days  he 
sat  so,  without  answering  a  charge  that  was  brought 
against  him. 

For  five  days  the  Secretary  sat  with  entire  patience 
urging  every  man  to  speak  his  mind  fully  and  freely. 
And  if  bitterness  toward  the  Service  betokened  free 
speaking,  the  complainants  held  back  nothing. 

A  heavy  set  man,  tanned  and  cheaply  dressed,  said : 
"Mr.  Secretary,  I  was  born  in  Hungary.  I  am  a  tinner 
by  trade.  I  lived  in  Sioux  City.  I  have  a  wife  and 
six  children.  I  got  consumption  and  a  real  estate  man 
fixed  it  up  with  a  friend  of  his  on  the  Makon  Project 
that  I  go  out  there,  see?  It  took  all  I  saved  but  they 
told  me  crops  the  first  year  will  pay  all  my  living  ex 
penses.  I  buy  forty  acres. 

"Mr.  Secretary,  I  get  no  crops  for  five  years.  I 
hauled  every  drop  of  water  we  use  seven  miles  from  a 
spring  for  five  years.  Some  days  we  got  nothing  to 
eat.  Me  and  my  oldest  boy,  we  work  for  Mellin  when 


124  STILL   JIM 

we  can  and  we  stayed  alive  till  the  water  come.  I  get 
cured  of  my  consumption.  But  my  money  is  gone.  I 
can  buy  no  tools,  no  nothing.  And,  Mr.  Secretary, 
when  the  canal  do  come  they  run  it  through  Mellin's 
place.  My  money  is  gone  and  I  can't  afford  to  dig  the 
long  ditch  to  Mellin's.  Mellin's  place  is  green  and 
mine  is  still  desert/' 

"Are  there  no  small  farmers  or  settlers  who  are  suc 
ceeding  on  the  Makon  Project?"  asked  the  Secretary. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "many,  but  also,  many 
like  me." 

"Then  is  your  complaint  against  the  real  estate 
sharks  or  the  government?"  persisted  the  Secretary. 

"Against  both!"  cried  the  man.  "Why  did  that 
Freet  give  Mellin  and  the  other  big  fellow  first  choice 
in  everything?  Why  must  I  pay  for  what  I  can't 
get?" 

There  were  several  farmers  from  different  projects 
who  had  stories  that  matched  the  ex-tinner's.  When 
they  had  finished,  the  Secretary  called  on  a  real  estate 
man  who  had  come  with  a  protest  about  the  running  of 
the  canals  on  the  Makon. 

"What  was  the  net  value  of  the  crops  oh  the  Ma 
kon  Project  last  year,"  asked  the  Secretary. 

"About  $500,000,  I  think." 

"What  was  it,  say  the  year  before  the  Reclamation 
Service  went  in  there?" 

"Perhaps  $100,000." 

"We  are  to  believe,  then,  that  some  people  have 
found  the  Service  useful?" 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Secretary,  there  are  a  whole  lot  of 
contented  farmers  up  there  who  are  too  busy  with 


STRENGTH    OF   THE    PACK     125 

their  bumper  crops  to  come  to  Washington,  even  if 
they  wanted  to." 

The  real  estate  man  sat  down  and  the  Secretary 
called  on  the  Chairman  of  the  Congressional  investi 
gating  committee  to  make  a  brief  summary  of  his 
charges. 

The  Chairman  said,  succinctly :  "I  charge  the  Serv 
ice  with  graft,  gross  extravagance  and  inefficiency.  I 
call  on  you  to  remove  the  Director  and  four  of  his  en 
gineers,  including  Arthur  Freet  and  James  Manning, 
who  are  present." 

"Of  what  specific  things  do  you  accuse  Mr.  Man 
ning?"  asked  the  Secretary,  with  a  glance  at  Jim's  im 
passive  face. 

"His  Project  is  full  of  mistakes,  some  of  them 
small,  that,  nevertheless,  aggregate  big  and  show  the 
trend  of  the  Service.  Up  on  the  Makon  he  made  a 
road  at  a  cost  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  that  only 
the  Service  used.  He's  put  a  thousand  dollars  into 
telephone  booths  where  two  hundred  would  have  been 
ample.  Some  of  the  canal  concrete  work  has  had  to  be 
dynamited  out  and  done  over  and  over  again.  The 
farmer  pays  for  all  this.  Manning  refuses  to  take  any 
advice  from  the  farmers  on  the  Project,  men  who  were 
irrigating  before  he  was  born.  His  every  idea  seems 
hostile  to  the  farmer,  whose  land  the  farmer  himself 
is  paying  him  to  irrigate.  Manning  was  trained  by 
Freet,  Mr.  Secretary." 

The  Secretary  tapped  his  desk  softly  for  several 
moments,  as  if  turning  over  in  his  mind  the  opposing 
evidence  brought  out  during  the  several  days  of  the 
Hearing.  Jim  had  not  been  called  on  but  Arthur  Freet 
and  two  other  Project  engineers  had  spent  an  entire 


126  STILLJIM 

day  on  the  stand,  quizzed  unmercifully  by  everyone  in 
the  room.  They  had  disclaimed  every  accusation. 
The  Director  of  the  Service,  a  quiet  man  of  marvelous 
executive  ability,  had  made  a  bitter  return  attack  on 
the  Congressional  Committee,  the  farmers,  the  real 
estate  men  and  the  lawyers,  accusing  them  of  being  the 
conscious  or  unconscious  tools  of  the  Water  Power 
Trust,  whose  object  was  to  destroy  the  Service. 

An  elderly  Senator  had  risen  and  had  addressed  the 
Hearing.  "I  was  one  of  the  fathers  of  the  Recla 
mation  Act.  One  of  the  fundamental  ideas  of  the  Act 
was  that  it  was  not  governmental  charity  but  that 
every  farmer  whose  arid  acres  were  watered  would 
be  willing  to  pay  for  it.  I  see  but  one  thing  in  all  these 
protests  against  the  Service  and  that  is  the  attempt 
to  repudiate  the  debt  incurred  by  the  farmers  to  the 
Service.  And  the  attempt  to  repudiate  is  most  bitter 
with  the  very  men  who  pleaded  most  loudly  with  the 
Government  to  irrigate  their  land  and  who  voluntarily 
pledged  themselves  to  pay  back  during  an  easy  period 
of  years  the  cost  of  the  Projects.  If  it  is  a  fact  that 
this  tainted  idea  of  Repudiation  is  creeping  among 
the  land  owners  on  the  Projects,  I  warn  you  all  that 
I  shall  use  all  my  influence  to  have  the  Reclamation 
Act  repealed." 

As  the  'old  Senator  had  finished  half  the  men  in  the 
room  had  risen  to  their  feet,  angrily  denying  any 
thought  of  repudiation. 

Now,  after  tapping  his  desk  thoughtfully,  the  Secre 
tary  looked  at  Jim. 

"Mr.  Manning,  please  take  the  stand." 

Jim  unfolded  his  long  legs  and  strode  up  beside  the 
Secretary's  desk.  He  stood  there  struggling  for  words 


STRENGTH   OF   THE   PACK     127 

that  would  not  come.  For  five  days  he  had  sat  think 
ing  of  the  three  Projects  that  he  knew.  He  recalled 
Charlie  Tuck  and  the  two  other  engineers  who  had 
laid  down  their  lives  for  the  dams.  He  pictured  again 
the  drowned  and  mangled  workmen  at  the  cost  of 
whose  lives  the  Makon  tunnel  had  been  driven.  A 
slow,  bitter  anger  had  risen  in  him  against  Freet.  It 
seemed  to  Jim  a  fearful  thing  that  one  crooked  man 
could  taint  such  faithfulness  and  sacrifice  as  he  had 
known,  could  blind  intelligent  men  to  the  marvel  of 
engineering  work  that  marked  the  progress  of  the  Rec 
lamation  Service  through  the  arid  country.  But 
when  Jim's  words  came,  they  were  futile. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  in  his  father's  casual  drawl, 
"that  I  have  anything  to  say  to  the  specific  charges 
against  me.  The  Director  has  covered  the  ground  bet 
ter  than  I  can.  I  have  the  feeling  that  if  the  actual 
work  we  have  done  out  west,  the  actual  acreage  we 
have  brought  to  profitable  bearing  won't  speak  to  you 
people  who  have  seen  it,  nothing  else  will.  The  flood 
season  is  coming  on,  Mr.  Secretary.  I  would  suggest 
that  you  send  either  me  or  my  successor  out  to  my 
dam." 

The  Secretary's  face  was  quite  as  inscrutable  as 
Jim's.  "Mr.  Manning,  why  do  you  put  so  much  money 
into  roads?" 

Jim's  eyes  fired  a  little.  "I  believe  that  one  of  the 
functions  of  government  is  to  build  good  roads.  Ac 
tually,  the  heavy  freightage  that  must  pass  over  these 
roads  makes  it  essential  that  they  be  first  class.  A 
cheap  road  would  be  expensive  in  time  and  breakage." 

"How  about  the  accusations  of  mismanagement?" 

"I  have  made  mistakes,"  replied  Jim,  "and  some  of 


128  STILL    JIM 

them  have  been  expensive  ones  in  lives  and  money. 
Many  of  our  engineering  problems  are  entirely  new 
and  we  have  to  solve  them  without  precedent.  The 
punishment  for  a  bad  guess  in  engineering  is  always 
sure  and  hard.  One  can  make  a  bad  political  guess 
and  escape." 

"How  about  the  accusation  of  graft?"  continued 
the  Secretary. 

Jim  whitened  a  little.  He  looked  over  the  Secre 
tary's  head  out  at  the  patch  of  blue  sky  and  then  back 
at  the  room  full  of  hostile  faces. 

"If  any  man  in  the  Service,"  he  said  slowly,  "can 
be  shown  to  be  dishonest,  no  punishment  can  be  too 
severe  for  him."  Jim  paused  and  then  went  on,  half 
under  his  breath  as  if  he  had  forgotten  his  audience. 
"The  strength  of  the  pack  is  the  wolf.  It's  disloyalty 
in  the  pack  that's  helping  the  old  American  spirit  down 
hill." 

The  Secretary's  eyes  deepened  but  he  repeated,  qui 
etly,  "And  as  to  your  graft,  Mr.  Manning?" 

Jim  hesitated  and  whitened  again  under  his  bronze. 
If  ever  a  man  looked  guilty,  Jim  did. 

There  was  at  this  point  a  sudden  scraping  of  a  chair, 
the  clatter  of  an  overturned  cuspidor  and  a  stout, 
elderly  man  at  the  rear  of  the  room  jumped  to  his  feet. 

"Mr.  Secretary,"  he  cried,  "may  I  say  a  word?" 

"Who  are  you  ?"  asked  the  Secretary. 

"I'm  a  New  York  lawyer,  but  I  know  the  Projects 
like  the  back  of  me  hand.  And  I  know  Jim  Manning 
as  I  know  me  own  soul.  You've  let  everyone  have 
free  speech  here.  Manning  didn't  know  till  this  min 
ute  that  I  was  in  town.  My  name  is  Michael  Dennis, 
your  honor." 


STRENGTH    OF   THE   PACK     129 

The  Secretary  smiled  ever  so  slightly  as  he  glanced 
from  Jim's  face  to  that  of  the  speaker.  Jim's  jaw 
was  dropped.  He  was  shaking  his  head  furiously  at 
Uncle  Denny  while  the  latter  nodded  as  furiously  at 
Jim. 

"Mr.  Manning  seems  unwilling  to  speak  for  himself. 
Since  you  know  him  so  well,  Mr.  Dennis,  we'll  hear 
what  you  have  to  say.  You  may  be  seated,  Mr. 
Manning. " 

Jim  moved  back  to  his  place  reluctantly  and  Uncle 
Denny  made  his  way  to  the  front,  talking  as  he  went. 

"Of  course,  he  won't  speak  for  himself,  Mr.  Secre 
tary.  He  never  could.  Still  Jim  we  call  him.  Still 
Jim  they  name  him  on  all  the  Projects  and  Still  Jim  he 
is  here  before  this  crowd  of  mixed  jackals  and  jack 
asses.  He  never  could  waste  his  energy  in  speech,  as 
I'm  doing  now.  I've  often  thought  he  had  some  fine 
inner  sense  that  taught  him  even  as  a  child  that  if  it's 
hard  to  speak  truth,  its  next  to  impossible  to  hear  it. 
So  he  just  keeps  still. 

"You've  heard  him  accused  of  graft,  Mr.  Secretary, 
and  of  inefficiency  and  of  any  other  black  phrase  that 
came  handy  to  these  people.  Your  honor,  it's  impos 
sible!  It's  not  in  his  breed  of  mind!  If  you  could 
have  seen  him  as  I  have!  A  child  of  fifteen  working 
in  the  pit  of  a  skyscraper  and  crying  himself  to  sleep 
nights  for  memory  of  his  father  he'd  seen  killed  at  like 
work,  yet  refusing  money  from  me  till  I  married  his 
mother  and  made  him  take  it.  If  you  had  seen  him 
out  on  your  Projects,  cutting  himself  off  from  civili 
zation  in  the  flower  of  his  youth  and  giving  his  young 
life  blood  to  his  dams !  I  know  he's  received  offers  of 
five  times  his  salary  from  a  corporation  and  stayed 


130  STILL   JIM 

by  his  dam.  I've  seen  him  hang  by  a  frayed  cable  with 
the  flood  round  his  arm  pits,  arguing,  heartening  the 
rough-necks  for  twenty- four  hours  at  a  stretch,  the 
last  man  to  give  in,  for  his  dam!  I've  seen  him  take 
chances  that  meant  life  or  death  for  him  and  a  hun 
dred  workmen  and  ten  thousand  dollars  worth  of  ma 
terial  and  win  for  his  dam,  for  a  pile  of  stones  that 
was  to  bring  money  to  the  very  men  here  who  are 
howling  him  down.  For  his  dam,  that's  wife  and  child 
to  him,  and  they  accuse  him  of  prostituting  it!  Bah! 
You  fools!  Don't  you  know  no  money-getter  works 
that  way?  He's  a  trail  builder,  Mr.  Secretary.  He's 
the  breed  that  opens  the  way  for  idiots  like  these  and 
they  follow  in  and  trample  him  underfoot  on  the  very 
trail  he  has  made  for  them !" 

Uncle  Denny  stopped.  There  was  a  moment's  hush 
in  the  room.  Jim  watched  the  patch  of  blue  with  un 
seeing  eyes.  As  Uncle  Denny  started  back  to  his  seat 
there  rose  an  angry  buzz,  but  the  Secretary  raised  his 
hand. 

"Gentlemen !  Gentlemen !  Turn  about  is  fair  play. 
Remember  that  you  have  called  the  Reclamation  En 
gineers  some  very  foul  names.  Mr.  Manning,  I  can 
not  see  why  you  should  not  return  to  the  flood  at  your 
dam  and  you  other  engineers  to  your  respective  posts, 
there  to  await  word  from  your  Director  as  to  the  re 
sults  of  this  Hearing.  You  yourselves  must  realize 
after  hearing  all  sides  that  I  can  take  action  only  after 
careful  deliberation.  I  thank  you  all  for  your  frank 
ness  and  patience  with  me." 

As  the  room  cleared,  Uncle  Denny  puffed  down  on 
Jim.  "Still  Jim,  me  boy,  don't  be  sore  at  me.  I 
should  have  spoken  if  I'd  been  a  deaf  mute!" 


STRENGTH    OF   THE   PACK     131 

Jim  took  Uncle  Denny's  hands.  "Uncle  Denny! 
Uncle  Denny!  You  shouldn't  have  done  it,  yet  how 
can  I  be  sore  at  you !" 

"That's  right,"  said  Uncle  Denny.  "You  can't  be! 
Oh,  I  tell  you,  I  feel  about  you  as  I  do  about  Ireland ! 
I'm  aching  for  some  blundering  fool  to  say  something 
that  I  may  knock  his  block  off!  When  are  you  going 
back?" 

"Tonight,"  replied  Jim.  "Come  up  to  the  hotel  and 
talk  while  I  pack.  I  can't  wait  an  hour  on  the  flood. 
How  are  mother  and  Pen?" 

"Fine!  Your  mother  and  I  are  the  most  comfort 
able  couple  on  earth.  We  took  it  for  granted  you'd 
come  up  to  New  York.  You  got  me  letter  about  Sara 
and  Pen  before  you  left  the  dam,  didn't  you?" 

"No.    What  letter?"  asked  Jim. 

The  two  were  walking  up  to  the  hotel  now.  Uncle 
Denny  threw  up  both  his  hands.  "Soul  of  me  soul! 
They  are  out  there  by  now.  It  all  happened  very  un 
expectedly  and  I  did  me  best  to  head  him  off.  I  must 
admit  Pen  was  no  help  to  me  there." 

"But  what "  exclaimed  Jim. 

Uncle  Denny  interrupted.  "I  don't  know,  meself. 
You  gave  Sara's  name  to  Freet  some  time  ago,  two 
years  ago,  when  he  wanted  to  do  some  real  estate  busi 
ness  in  New  York.  Well,  ever  since  Sara  has  had  the 
western  land  speculation  bug,  and  lately  nothing  would 
do  but  he  must  get  out  to  your  Project.  They  are 
waiting  there  now  for  you  if  Sara  killed  no  one  en 
route.  There  is  so  much  peace  in  the  old  brownstone 
front  now,  Still  Jim,  that  your  mother  and  I  fear  we 
will  have  to  keep  a  coyote  in  the  parlor  to  howl  us  to 
sleep!" 


132  STILL   JIM 

Jim  turned  a  curiously  shaken  face  on  Dennis.  "Do 
you  mean  that  Pen,  Pen  is  out  at  the  Dam  ?  That  she 
will  be  there  when  I  get  back?" 

Uncle  Denny  nodded.  'Ten  and  Sara!  Don't  for 
get  Sara.  Me  heart  misgives  me  as  to  his  purpose  in 
going." 

"Penelope  at  my  dam?"  repeated  Jim. 

Uncle  Denny  looked  at  Jim's  tanned  face.  Then  he 
looked  away  and  his  Irish  eyes  were  tear-dimmed.  He 
said  no  more  until  they  were  in  Jim's  room  at  the  ho 
tel.  Jim  began  to  pack  rapidly  and  Uncle  Denny  re 
marked,  casually: 

"Penelope  is  Saradokis'  wife,  you  know." 

Jim's  drawl  was  razor-edged.  "Uncle  Denny,  she 
never  was  and  never  will  be  Saradokis'  wife." 

"Oh,  I  know !  Only  in  name !  But — I  may  as  well 
tell  you  that  I  think  she  was  unwise  in  going  to  you." 

Jim  walked  over  to  the  window,  then  slowly  back 
again.  His  clear  gray  eyes  searched  the  kindly  blue 
ones.  "Uncle  Denny,  why  do  you  suppose  this  thing 
happened  to  Pen?" 

The  Irishman's  voice  was  a  little  husky  as  he  an 
swered  :  "To  make  a  grand  woman  of  her.  She's  de 
veloped  qualities  that  nothing  else  on  earth  could  have 
developed  in  her.  It's  because  of  her  having  grown 
to  be  what  she  is  that  I  didn't  want  her  to  go  to  you. 
I— Oh,  Still  Jim,  me  boy !  Me  boy !" 

For  just  a  moment  Jim's  lips  quivered,  then  he  said, 
"We  shall  see  what  the  desert  does  for  us,"  and  he 
closed  his  suitcase  with  a  snap. 


CHAPTER  XI 

OLD  JEZEBEL  ON  THE  RAMPAGE 

"Old  Jezebel  is  a  woman.  For  years  she  keeps  her 
appointed  trail  until  the  accumulation  of  her  strength 
breaks  all  bounds  and  she  sweeps  sand  and  men  before 
her." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

THERE  is  a  butte  in  the  Cabillo  country  that  they 
call  the  Elephant 

Picture  a  country  of  lavenders  and  yellows  and 
blues ;  an  open,  barren  land,  with  now  a  wide  sweep  of 
desert,  now  a  chaos  of  mesa  and  mountain,  dead  vol 
cano  and  eroded  plain.  The  desert,  a  buff  yellow 
where  blue  distance  and  black  shadow  and  the  purple 
of  volcano  spill  have  not  stained  it.  The  mountains, 
bronze  and  lavender,  lifting  scarred  peaks  to  a  quiet 
sky;  a  sky  of  turquoise  blue.  The  Rio  del  Norte,  a 
brown  streak,  forcing  a  difficult  and  roundabout 
course  through  ranges  and  desert. 

In  a  rough  desert  plain,  which  is  surrounded  by 
ranges,  stands  a  broad  backed  butte  that  was  once  a 
volcano.  The  Rio  del  Norte  sweeps  in  a  curve  about 
its  base.  Time  and  volcanic  crumblings  and  desert 
wind  have  carved  the  great  beast  into  the  semblance  of 
an  elephant  at  rest.  The  giant  head  is  slightly  bowed. 

133 


134  STILL   JIM 

The  curved  trunk  droops,  but  the  eyes  are  wide  open 
and  the  ears  are  slightly  lifted.  By  day  it  is  a  rich, 
red  bronze.  By  night,  a  purple  that  deepens  to  black. 
Watching,  brooding,  listening,  day  or  night,  the  butte 
dominates  here  the  desert  and  the  river  and  the  ranges. 

This  is  the  butte  that  they  call  the  Elephant. 

Below  this  butte  the  Service  was  building  a  dam. 
It  was  a  huge  undertaking.  When  finished  the  dam 
would  be  as  high  as  a  twenty-story  building  and  as 
long  as  two  city  blocks.  It  would  block  the  river, 
turning  it  into  a  lake  forty  miles  long,  that  would 
be  a  perpetual  water  supply  to  over  a  hundred  thou 
sand  acres  of  land  in  the  Rio  del  Norte  valley. 

The  borders  of  the  Rio  del  Norte  have  been  culti 
vated  for  centuries.  Long  before  the  Puritans  landed 
in  New  England,  the  Spanish  who  followed  Coronado 
planted  grape  vines  on  the  brown  river's  banks.  The 
Spanish  found  Pueblo  Indians  irrigating  little  hard- 
won  fields  here.  The  irrigation  ditches  these  Indians 
used  were  of  dateless  antiquity  and  yet  there  were 
traces  left  of  still  older  ditches  used  by  a  people  who 
had  gone,  leaving  behind  them  only  these  pitiful  dumb 
traces  of  heroic  human  effort.  After  the  Spanish 
came  the  Americans,  patrolling  their  ditches  with 
guns  lest  the  Apaches  devastate  their  fields. 

Spanish,  Indians,  Americans  all  fought  to  bring  the 
treacherous  Rio  del  Norte  under  control,  but  failure 
came  so  often  that  at  last  they  united  in  begging  the 
Reclamation  Service  for  aid.  It  was  to  help  these 
people  and  to  open  up  the  untouched  lands  of  the  val 
ley  as  well,  that  the  dam  was  being  built.  And  the 
building  of  it  was  Jim's  job. 

Jim  jumped  off  the  bobtailed  train  that  obligingly 


OLD  JEZEBELON  RAMPAGE     135 

stopped  for  him  at  a  lone  shed  in  the  wide  desert.  In 
the  shed  was  the  adobe  splashed  automobile  which 
Jim  had  left  there  on  his  trip  out.  He  threw  his  suit 
case  into  the  tonneau,  cranked  the  engine  and  was  off 
over  the  rough  trail  that  led  to  the  Project  Road. 

A  few  miles  cut  he  met  four  hoboes.  They  turned 
out  for  the  machine  and  Jim  stopped. 

"Looking  for  work  at  the  dam?"  he  asked. 

"What  are  the  chances?"  asked  one  of  the  group. 

"Fine !  Get  in !  I'm  engineer  up  there.  You're 
hired." 

With  broad  grins  the  three  clambered  aboard.  The 
man  who  sat  beside  Jim  said :  "We  heard  flood  season 
was  coming  on  and  thought  you'd  like  extra  help.  Us 
boys  rode  the  bumpers  up  from  Cabillo." 

Jim  grunted.  Labor-getting  continued  to  be  a  con 
stant  problem  for  all  the  valuable  nucleus  formed  by 
the  Park.  Experts  and  the  offscourings  of  the  earth 
drifted  to  the  great  government  camp  and  Jim  and  all 
his  assistants  exercised  a  constant  and  rigid  sifting 
process.  He  did  not  talk  much  to  his  new  help.  His 
eyes  were  keen  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  river. 
The  men  caught  his  strain  and  none  of  them  spoke 
again.  Cottontails  quivered  out  of  sight  as  the  auto 
mobile  rushed  on.  An  occasional  coyote,  silhouetted 
against  the  sky,  disappeared  as  if  by  magic.  Swoop 
ing  buzzards  hung  motionless  to  see,  then  swept  on 
into  the  heavens. 

Jim  was  taking  right-angled  curves  at  twenty-five 
miles  an  hour.  The  hoboes  clung  to  the  machine  wild- 
eyed  and  speechless.  Up  and  up,  round  a  twisted  peak 
and  then,  far  below,  the  river. 

"She's  up !    The  old  Jezebel !"  said  Jim. 


136  STILL   JIM 

The  machine  slid  down  the  mountainside  to  the 
government  bridge.  The  brown  water  was  just  be 
ginning  to  wash  over  the  floor.  Across  the  bridge, 
Jim  stopped  the  machine  before  a  long  gray  adobe 
building.  It  topped  a  wide  street  of  tents.  Jim 
scrawled  a  line  on  an  old  envelope  and  gave  it  to  one 
of  the  hoboes. 

"Take  that  to  the  steward.  Eat  all  you  can  hold 
and  report  wherever  the  steward  sends  you." 

Then  he  went  on.  Regardless  of  turn  or  precipice 
the  road  rose  in  a  steady  grade  from  the  lower  camp 
where  the  workmen  lived,  a  half  mile  to  the  dam  site. 
Jim  whirled  to  the  foot  of  the  cable  way  towers  and 
jumped  out  of  the  machine. 

The  dam  site  lay  in  a  valley,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
wide,  between  two  mountains.  Above  the  dam  lay  the 
Elephant.  A  great  cofferdam  built  near  the  Ele 
phant's  base  diverted  the  river  into  a  concrete  flume 
that  ran  along  the  foot  of  one  of  the  mountains.  The 
river  bed,  bared  by  the  diverting  of  the  stream,  was 
filled  with  machinery.  An  excavation  sixty  feet  below 
the  river  bottom  and  two  hundred  feet  wide  was  al 
most  completed.  Indeed,  on  the  side  next  the  flume 
there  already  rose  above  the  river  bed  a  mighty  square 
of  concrete,  a  third  the  width  of  the  river.  Jim  had 
begun  the  actual  erection  of  the  dam. 

The  two  mountains  were  topped  by  huge  towers, 
supporting  cables  that  swung  above  the  dam  site.  The 
cables  carried  anything  from  a  man  to  a  locomotive, 
from  the  "grab  buckets"  that  bit  two  tons  of  sand  at 
a  mouthful  from  the  excavation,  to  a  skid  bearing  a 
motion  picture  outfit. 

Work  was  going  on  as  usual  when  Jim  arrived. 


OLDJEZEBELONRAMPAGE     137 

The  cable  ways  sang  and  shrieked.  The  concrete 
mixer  roared.  Donkey  engines  puffed  and  dinkees 
squealed.  Jim  dashed  into  a  telephone  booth  and 
called  up  the  office. 

"This  is  Mr.  Manning.    Where  is  Williams?" 

The  telephone  girl  answered  quickly :  "Oh,  how  are 
you,  Mr.  Manning?  We're  glad  you  are  back.  Why, 
Mr.  Williams  was  called  down  to  Cabillo  to  make  a  de 
position  for  the  Washington  hearing,  several  days  ago. 
And  they  made  Mr.  Barton  and  Mr.  Aries  go,  too. 
I'm  trying  to  get  them  on  long  distance  now.  You 
came  by  the  way  of  Albuquerque,  didn't  you?  We 
tried  to  reach  you  in  Washington,  but  couldn't." 

Jim  groaned.    His  three  best  men  were  gone. 

"We  didn't  expect  high  water  for  a  week,"  the  girl 
went  on,  "or  else " 

"Miss  Agnes,"  Jim  interrupted,  "call  up  every  en 
gineer  on  the  job  and  tell  them  to  report  at  once  to 
me  at  Booth  A.  Whom  did  Iron  Skull  leave  on  his 
job?" 

"Benson,  the  head  draughtsman." 

Jim  hung  up  the  receiver  and  stood  a  moment  in 
thought.  Iron  Skull  was  now  Jim's  superintendent 
and  right  hand.  His  mechanical  and  electrical  engi 
neers  were  gone,  too,  leaving  only  cubs  who  had  never 
seen  a  flood.  Benson  came  running  down  the  trail 
from  the  office. 

"For  the  Lord's  sake,  Benson,  have  you  been 
asleep?"  said  Jim. 

Benson  looked  at  the  roaring  flume.  "She'll  carry 
it  all  right,  don't  you  think  ?  I  haven't  been  able  to  get 
in  touch  with  the  hydrographer  for  twenty-four  hours. 
The  water  only  began  to  rise  an  hour  ago." 


138  STILL   JIM 

"The  poor  kid  may  be  drowned!"  exclaimed  Jim. 
He  turned  to  the  group  of  men  forming  about  him. 
"We're  in  for  a  fight,  fellows.  This  flood  has  just 
begun  and  it's  higher  now  than  I've  ever  seen  the  water 
in  the  flume.  I'm  going  to  fill  the  excavation  with 
water  from  the  flume  and  so  avoid  the  wash  from 
the  main  flow.  Save  what  you  can  from  the  river  bed. 
Leave  the  excavation  to  me." 

Five  minutes  later  the  river  bed  swarmed  with 
workmen.  The  cable  ways  groaned  with  load  after 
load  of  machinery.  Jim  ran  down  the  trail,  around 
the  excavation  and  up  onto  the  great  block  of  con 
crete.  The  top  of  this  was  just  below  the  flume  edge. 
The  foreman  of  the  concrete  gang  was  aghast  at  Jim's 
orders. 

"We  may  have  a  couple  of  hours,"  Jim  finished,  "or 
she  may  come  down  on  us  as  if  the  bottom  had  dropped 
out  of  the  ocean.  See  that  everyone  gets  out  of  the 
excavation." 

The  foreman  looked  a  little  pitifully  at  the  con 
crete  section. 

"That  last  pouring'll  go  out  like  a  snow  bank,  Mr. 
Manning." 

Jim  nodded.  "Dam  builders  luck,  Fritz.  Get  busy." 
He  hurried  into  a  telephone  booth,  even  in  the  stress 
of  the  moment  smiling  ruefully  as  he  remembered  the 
complaint  at  the  hearing.  The  booths  had  been  too 
well  built.  Jim's  predecessor  had  been  a  government 
man  of  the  old  school  in  just  one  particular.  Honest 
to  his  heart's  core,  he  still  could  not  understand  the 
need  of  economy  when  working  for  Uncle  Sam. 

"Have  you  heard  from  Iron  Skull?"  Jim  asked  the 
operator. 


OLD  JEZEBEL  ON  RAMPAGE     139 

"He  ought  to  be  here  now,  Mr.  Manning,"  she  re 
plied.  "I  sent  the  car  over  to  the  kitchen." 

"You  are  all  right,  Miss  Agnes,"  said  Jim.  "Tell 
Dr.  Emmet  to  be  near  the  telephone.  I  don't  like  the 
looks  of  this." 

Jim  hung  up  the  receiver,  pulled  off  his  coat  and 
hurried  out  to  the  edge  of  the  concrete  section.  A 
derrick  was  being  spun  along  the  cableway,  just  above 
the  excavation.  A  man  was  standing  on  the  great 
hook  from  which  the  derrick  was  suspended.  Men 
were  clambering  through  the  heavy  sand  up  out  of  the 
excavation.  The  man  on  the  edge  of  the  pit  who  was 
holding  the  guide  rope  attached  to  the  swinging  der 
rick  was  caught  in  the  rush  of  workmen.  He  tripped 
and  dropped  the  rope,  then  ran  after  it  with  a  shout 
of  warning.  For  a  moment  the  derrick  spun  awk 
wardly. 

The  man  in  the  tower  rang  a  hasty  signal  and  the 
operator  of  the  cableway  reversed  with  a  sudden  jerk 
that  threw  the  derrick  from  the  hook.  The  man  on 
the  hook  clung  like  a  fly  on  a  thread.  The  derrick 
crashed  heavily  down  on  the  excavation  edge,  and  slid 
to  the  bottom,  carrying  with  it  a  great  sand  slide  that 
caught  two  men  as  it  went. 

Jim  gasped,  "My  God !  I  hate  a  derrick !"  and  ran 
down  into  the  excavation,  the  foreman  at  his  heels. 
Men  turned  in  their  tracks  and  wallowed  back  after  Jim. 

The  derrick  had  fallen  in  such  a  way  that  its  broken 
boom  held  back  a  portion  of  the  slide.  From  under 
the  boom  protruded  a  brown  hand  with  almond- 
shaped  nails;  unmistakably  the  hand  of  an  Indian. 
The  least  movement  of  the  boom  would  send  the  sand 
down  over  the  wreckage  of  the  derrick. 


140  STILL   JIM 

Uncontrollably  moved  for  a  moment,  Jim  dropped 
to  his  knees  and  crawled  close  to  touch  the  inert  hand. 
"Don't  move!"  he  shouted.  "We  will  get  you  out!" 
For  just  a  moment,  an  elm  shaded  street  and  a  disman 
tled  mansion  flashed  across  his  vision.  Then  he  got  a 
grip  on  himself  and  crawled  out. 

"Get  a  bunch  of  men  with  shovels!"  he  cried.  "Dig 
as  if  you  were  digging  in  dynamite." 

"They  are  dead  under  there,  Boss!"  pleaded  the 
foreman.  "And  they  ain't  nothing  but  an  Injun  and 
a  Mexican,  an  ornery  hombre!  And  if  you  don't  let 
the  flume  in  this  whole  place'll  wash  out  like  flour. 
It'll  take  an  hour  to  get  them  out." 

Jim's  lips  tightened.  "You  weren't  up  on  the  Ma- 
kon,  Fritz.  My  rule  is,  fight  to  save  a  life  at  any  cost. 
Keep  those  fellows  digging  like  the  devil." 

He  hurried  back  up  onto  the  section,  thence  up  to 
the  flume  edge.  Then  he  gave  an  exclamation.  The 
brown  water  had  risen  an  inch  while  he  was  in  the  ex 
cavation.  He  ran  for  the  telephone  again. 

In  a  moment  a  new  form  of  activity  began  in  the 
river  bed.  Every  man  who  was  not  digging  gingerly 
at  the  sand  slide  was  turned  to  throwing  bags  of  sand 
on  cofferdam  and  flume  edge  to  hold  back  the  river  as 
long  as  might  be.  Jim  stood  on  the  concrete  section 
and  issued  his  orders.  His  voice  was  steel  cool.  His 
orders  came  rapidly  but  without  confusion.  He  con 
centrated  every  force  of  his  mind  on  driving  his  army 
of  workmen  to  the  limit  of  their  strength,  yet  on  keep 
ing  them  cool  headed  that  every  moment  might  count. 

It  was  an  uneven  fight  at  that.  Old  Jezebel  gath 
ered  strength  minute  by  minute.  The  brown  water 


OLDJEZEBELONRAMPAGE     141 

was  dripping  over  onto  the  concrete  when  someone 
caught  Jim's  arm. 

"Where  shall  I  go,  Boss  Still?" 

"Thank  God,  Iron  Skull!''  exclaimed  Jim.  "Go 
down  and  get  that  hombre  and  Apache  out." 

Iron  Skull  ran  down  into  the  excavation.  The 
brown  water  began  to  seep  over  the  edge  of  the  pit. 
The  men  who  were  digging  above  the  slide  swore  and 
threw  down  their  shovels.  Jim  tossed  his  megaphone 
to  the  cement  engineer  and  ran  to  meet  the  men. 

"Get  back  there,"  he  said  quietly.  The  men  looked 
at  his  face,  then  turned  sheepishly  back. 

Jim  picked  up  a  shovel.  Iron  Skull  already  was 
digging  like  a  madman. 

One  of  the  workmen,  who  never  had  ceased  digging, 
snarled  to  another:  "What  does  he  want  to  let  the 
whole  dam  go  to  hell  for  two  nigger  rough-necks  for?" 

"Bosses'  rule,"  panted  the  other.  "Up  on  the  Ma- 
kon  we'd  risk  our  lives  to  the  limit  and  fight  for  the 
other  fellows  just  as  quick.  How'd  you  like  to  be 
under  there?  Never  know  who's  turn's  next!" 

The  brown  water  rose  steadily,  rurming  faster  and 
faster  over  into  the  excavation.  The  water  was 
touching  the  brown  hand  which  now  twitched  and 
writhed,  when  Jim  said: 

"Now,  boys,  catch  the  cable  hook  to  the  boom  and 
give  the  signal." 

The  derrick  swung  up  into  the  air.  Jim  and  a  Ma- 
kon  man  seized  the  Indian,  Iron  Skull  and  another  man 
the  hombre.  Both  of  them  were  alive  but  helpless. 
The  cement  engineer  shouted  an  order  through  the 
megaphone  and  just  as  a  lifting  brown  wave  showed 


142  STILL   JIM 

its  fearful  head  beyond  the  Elephant,  the  river  bed  was 
cleared  of  human  beings. 

Up  around  the  cable  tower  foot  was  gathered  a  great 
crowd  of  workmen,  women  and  children.  Jim,  greet 
ed  right  and  left  as  he  relinquished  his  burden,  looked 
about  eagerly.  Penelope  must  have  heard  of  the  flood 
and  have  come  to  see  it.  But  surrounded  by  his 
friends,  Jim  missed  the  girlish  figure  that  had  hovered 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  and  that,  after  he  had 
reached  the  tower  foot  in  safety,  disappeared  up  the 
trail. 

Jim,  with  his  arm  across  Iron  Skull's  shoulder, 
turned  to  watch  the  river.  The  moving  brown  wall 
had  filled  the  excavation.  It  rushed  like  a  Niagara 
over  the  flume  edge.  In  half  an  hour  it  ran  from  bank 
to  bank,  with  a  roar  of  satisfaction  at  having  once 
more  regained  its  bed. 

Jim  sighed  and  said  to  Iron  Skull :  "She's  taken  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars  at  a  mouthful.  I'll  put  that 
in  my  expense  account  for  my  trip  to  Washington." 

Iron  Skull  grunted:  "We'll  be  lucky  if  we  get  off 
that  cheap.  This  will  make  talk  for  every  farmer 
on  the  Project.  They'll  all  be  up  to  tell  you  how  you 
should  have  done  it." 

Jim  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "This  isn't  the  first 
flood  we've  weathered,  Iron  Skull.  Come  up  to  the 
house  while  I  change  my  clothes." 

The  two  started  along  the  road  that  wound  up  to  the 
low  mountain  top  where  the  group  of  adobe  cottages 
known  as  "officers'  quarters"  was  located.  The  cot 
tages  were  occupied  by  Jim's  associate  engineers  and 
their  families. 

"I  suppose  you  learned  that  your  friends  came,"  said 


OLD  JEZEBELON  RAMPAGE     143 

Iron  Skull.  'They  wanted  a  tent  for  his  health,  so  I 
put  them  in  the  tent  house  back  on  the  level  behind  the 
quarters. 

"I  didn't  know  of  their  coming  until  I  was  leaving 
Washington,"  said  Jim.  "How  are  they?" 

"She  stood  the  trip  fine.  He  was  pretty  well  used 
up,  poor  cus!  She  is  awful  patient  with  him.  She's 
all  you've  said  about  her  and  then  some.  The  ladies 
have  all  called  on  her  but  he  don't  encourage  them. 
I  stood  a  good  deal  from  him,  then  I  just  told  him  to 
go  to  hell.  Not  when  she  was  round,  of  course." 

Jim  listened  intently.  He  knew  the  whole  camp 
must  be  alive  with  gossip  and  curiosity  over  his  two 
guests.  An  event  of  this  order  was  a  godsend  in  news 
value  to  the  desert  camp. 

"Much  obliged  to  you,"  was  Jim's  comment. 

"How'd  the  Hearing  go?"  asked  Iron  Skull. 

Jim  shook  his  head  and  sighed.  "They  are  con 
vinced  down  there,  I  guess,  that  the  Service  is  rotten. 
I  kept  my  mouth  shut  and  sawed  wood.  The  Secre 
tary  is  good  medicine.  You  should  have  heard  Uncle 
Denny  jump  in  and  make  a  speech.  Bless  him.  I  felt 
like  a  fool.  What  the  Secretary  thinks  about  the  whole 
thing  nobody  knows." 

Iron  Skull  grunted.  After  a  moment  he  said: 
"Folks  down  at  Cabillo  are  peeved  at  the  way  you  are 
making  the  main  canal.  Old  Suma-theek  is  back  with 
fifty  Apaches.  That's  one  of  them  we  pulled  out  of 
the  sand.  I've  fixed  a  separate  mess  for  them.  I  think 
we  can  reorganize  one  of  the  shifts  so  as  to  reduce 
the  number  of  foremen." 

Jim  paused  before  the  door  of  his  little  gray  adobe. 
"Will  you  come  in,  Iron  Skull?" 


144  STILL   JIM 

"I'll  wait  for  you  in  the  office,"  replied  Williams. 
He  turned  down  the  mountainside  toward  a  long  adobe 
with  a  red  roof. 

Jim  walked  in  at  the  open  door  of  his  house.  The 
living  room  was  long  and  low,  with  an  adobe  fireplace 
at  one  end.  The  walls  were  left  in  the  delicate  creamy 
tint  of  the  natural  adobe.  On  the  floor  were  a  black 
bearskin  from  Makon  and  a  brilliant  Navajo  that 
Suma-theek  had  given  him.  The  walls  were  hung  with 
Indian  baskets  and  pottery,  with  photographs  of  the 
Green  Mountain  and  the  Makon,  with  guns  and  can 
teens  and  a  great  rack  of  pipes.  This  was  the  first 
home  that  Jim  had  had  since  he  had  left  the  brown- 
stone  front  and  he  was  very  proud  of  it.  He  had  in 
herited  his  predecessor's  housekeeper,  who  ruled  him 
firmly. 

Jim  dropped  his  suit  case  and  called,  "Hello,  Mrs. 
Flynn!" 

A  door  at  the  end  of  the  room  opened  and  a  very 
stout  woman  came  in,  her  ruddy  face  a  vast  smile,  her 
gray  hair  flying.  She  was  wiping  her  hands  on  her 
apron. 

"Oh,  Boss  Still,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you !  You  look 
pindlin'.  Ain't  it  awful  about  the  dam!  I  bet  you're 
hungry  this  minute.  God  knows,  if  I'd  thought  you'd 
be  here  for  another  hour  I'd  have  had  something 
against  your  coming.  And  if  God  lets  me  live  to  spare 
my  life,  it  won't  happen  again." 

She  talked  very  rapidly  and  as  she  talked  she  was 
patting  Jim's  arm,  turning  him  round  and  round  to 
look  him  over  like  a  mother. 

Jim  flashed  his  charming  smile  on  her.  "Bless  you, 
Mother  Flynn!  I  know  it's  a  hundred  years  since 


OLDJEZEBELONRAMPAGE     145 

you've  told  me  what  God  knows !  I'll  have  a  bath  and 
go  down  to  the  office.  I've  had  nothing  to  eat  since 
morning/'  This  last  very  sadly. 

It  had  the  expected  effect  on  Mrs.  Flynn,  whose  idea 
of  purgatory  was  of  a  place  where  one  had  to  miss  an 
occasional  meal. 

She  groaned :  ' 'Leave  me  into  the  kitchen !  At  six 
o'clock  exactly  there  will  be  fried  chicken  on  this 
table!" 

Mrs.  Flynn  made  breathlessly  for  the  kitchen  paus 
ing  at  the  door  to  call  back :  "And  how's  your  mother 
and  your  Uncle  Denny?  I've  been  doing  the  best  I 
can  for  your  company.  They  ate  stuff  I  took  'em 
only  the  first  day,  then  she  went  to  housekeeping." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jim,  absently.  He  went  into 
his  bedroom.  This,  too,  was  uncolored.  It  was  a 
simple  little  room  with  only  a  cot,  a  bureau  and  a  chair 
in  it.  The  walls  were  bare  except  for  the  little  old 
photograph  of  Pen  in  her  tennis  clothes. 

In  half  an  hour  Jim  had  splashed  in  and  out  of  his 
bath,  was  shaved  and  clad  in  camp  regalia;  a  flannel 
shirt,  Norfolk  coat  and  riding  breeches  of  tan  khaki, 
leather  puttees  and  a  broad-brimmed  Stetson.  At  his 
office  awaiting  him  were  his  engineer  associates  and 
Iron  Skull,  and  he  put  in  a  long  two  hours  with  them, 
his  mind  far  less  on  the  flood  and  the  Hearing  than 
on  the  fact  that  Penelope  was  waiting  for  him,  up  in 
the  little  tent  house. 

It  was  not  quite  eight  o'clock  when  Jim  stood  before 
the  tent  house,  waiting  for  courage  to  rap. 

Suddenly  he  heard  Sara's  voice.  "I  won't  have 
women  coming  up  here  to  snoop!  Understand  that, 


146  STILL   JIM 

Pen,  right  now.     Hand  me  the  paper  and  be  quick 
about  it." 

Jim  felt  himself  stiffened  as  he  listened  for  Pen's 
voice  in  answer. 


CHAPTER    XII 

THE  TENT   HOUSE 

"Leave  Old  Jezebel  to  herself  and  she  soon  returns  to 
old  ways.     She  likes  them  best  for  she  is  a  woman." 
MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

PEN'S  voice,  when  it  came,  was  lower  and  fuller 
than  he  had  remembered  it  but  there  was  the  old 
soft  chuckle  in  it. 

"Cross  patch !  Draw  the  latch !  Say  please,  like  a 
nice  child  arid  then  I'll  play  a  game  of  cards  with  you." 

Jim  rapped  on  the  door  and  stepped  in.  "Hello, 
Pen !"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 

She  was  changed  and  yet  unchanged.  A  little  thin 
ner,  older,  yet  more  beautiful  in  her  young  woman 
hood  than  in  her  charming  girlhood.  Her  chestnut 
hair  was  wrapped  in  soft  braids  around  her  head  in 
stead  of  being  bundled  up  in  her  neck.  Her  eyes 
looked  larger  and  deeper  set  but  they  were  the  same 
steady,  clear  eyes  of  old ;  ageless  eyes ;  the  eyes  of  the 
woman  who  thinks.  She  had  the  same  full  soft  lips, 
and  as  Jim  held  out  his  hand  the  same  flash  of  dimples. 

"Hello,  Still!  The  mountains  have  come  to  Ma 
homet!" 

"And  a  poor  welcome  I  gave  you,"  replied  Jim. 
"Hello,  Sara." 

H7 


148  STILL    JIM 

Jim  turned  to  the  great  invalid  chair.  There, 
propped  up  in  cushions,  lay  a  fat  travesty  of  the  old 
Saradokis.  This  was  a  Sara  whose  tawny  hair  was 
turning  gray  with  suffering ;  whose  mouth,  once  so  full 
and  boyish,  was  now  heavy  and  sinister,  whose  buoy 
ancy  had  changed  to  the  bitter  irritability  of  the  hope 
less  invalid. 

Sara  looked  Jim  over  deliberately,  then  dropped  his 
hand.  "How  do  you  think  I  am?  Enjoying  the  dirty 
deal  I've  had  from  life?" 

Jim  had  not  realized  before  just  what  a  dirty  deal 
Sara  had  been  given.  "I'm  sorry  about  it,  Sara,"  he 
said. 

Saradokis  gave  an  ugly  laugh.  "Sounds  well !  I've 
never  heard  a  word  from  you  since  the  day  we  ran  the 
Marathon.  You  hold  a  grudge  as  well  as  a  Greek, 
Jim." 

"Gee,  I'd  forgotten  all  about  the  race!"  exclaimed 
Jim. 

"I  haven't,"  returned  Sara.  "Neither  the  race  nor 
several  other  things." 

Jim  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  to  Pen,  who 
was  watching  the  two  men  anxiously. 

"Tell  me  about  your  plans.  I'm  mighty  happy  to 
have  you  here." 

"Sara's  had  the  feeling  for  a  long  time  that  this  cli 
mate  would  help  him,  and  we've  talked  in  a  general 
way  about  coming.  It  was  Mr.  Freet  that  told  Sara 
he  thought  there  were  some  good  real  estate  chances 
here  and  that  decided  Sara.  Sara  has  done  him  a 
number  of  good  turns  in  investments  round  New 
York." 

Jim  looked  at  Sara  sharply  but  made  no  comment 


THE    TENT    HOUSE  149 

on  Pen's  remarks.  "Are  you  comfortable  here?"  he 
asked,  looking  about  the  tent  house. 

It  was  a  roomy  place.  There  was  a  good  floor  and 
a  wooden  wainscoting  that  rose  three  feet  above  it. 
The  tent  was  set  on  this  wainscoting,  which  gave 
plenty  of  head  space.  A  gasolene  stove  in  one  corner 
with  a  table  and  chairs  and  a  cupboard  formed  the 
kitchen.  A  cot  for  Pen  and  a  book  shelf  or  two  with 
a  corner  clothes  closet  and  some  hammock  swung 
chairs  completed  the  furniture.  Pen  had  achieved  the 
homelike  with  some  chintz  hangings  and  a  rug. 

"I  am  getting  our  meals  right  here,"  said  Pen.  "The 
steward  said  we  could  have  them  sent  up  from  the 
mess,  but  it's  less  expensive  and  more  fun  to  get  them 
camp  fashion  here.  ^  The  government  store  is  a  very 
good  one  and  all  the  neighbors  have  called  and  have 
brought  me  everything  from  fresh  baked  bread  to  cans 
of  jelly.  They  are  so  wonderfully  kind  to  me!" 

Sara  was  staring  at  Jim  with  an  insolent  sort  of 
interest.  He  had  full  use  of  his  arms,  as  was  evident 
when  he  gave  the  great  wheel  chair  a  quick  flip  about 
so  as  to  shade  his  eyes  from  the  lamp.  As  Jim  watched 
him  all  the  resentment  of  the  past  eight  years  welled 
up  within  him  with  an  added  repugnance  for  Sara's 
fat  helplessness  and  ugly  temper  that  made  it  difficult 
for  him  to  sit  by  the  invalid's  chair. 

When  Pen  had  finished  her  account  Sara  said,  "You 
made  rather  a  mess,  didn't  you,  in  handling  the  flood 
today?" 

"You  were  splendid,  Jimmy!"  cried  Pen.  "I  saw 
the  whole  thing!" 

Jim  shook  his  head.     "It  was  expensive  splendor!" 

"You  will  find  it  difficult  to  explain  your  lack  of 


150  STILL   JIM 

preparation  to  an  investigating  committee,  won't 
you?"  asked  Sara. 

"If  you  can  give  a  recipe  for  flood  preparation," 
said  Jim  good  naturedly,  "you  will  have  every  dam 
builder  in  the  world  at  your  feet." 

Sara  grunted  and  changed  the  subject  and  his  man 
ner  abruptly. 

"Got  any  decent  smoking  tobacco,  Still?" 

"That  is  hard  to  find  here,"  replied  Jim.  "It  dries 
out  fast  and  loses  flavor.  I've  got  some  over  at  the 
house  I  brought  back  from  the  East.  I'll  go  over  and 
get  it  now.  Will  you  let  Pen  walk  over  with  me  ?  I'd 
like  to  have  her  see  my  house." 

"Makes  no  difference  to  me  what  she  does.  Hand 
me  that  book,  Pen,  before  you  start." 

Out  under  the  stars  Jim  pulled  Pen's  hand  within 
his  arm  and  asked,  "Pen,  is  he  always  like  that?" 

"Always,"  answered  Pen.  "Do  you  remember  the 
'Wood-carver  of  Olympus'  ?  How  he  was  hurt  like 
Sara  and  how  he  blasphemed  God  and  was  embittered 
for  years?  He  was  reconciled  to  his  lot  after  a  time 
and  people  loved  him.  I  have  so  hoped  for  that  change 
in  poor  Sara,  but  none  has  come." 

"Pen!"  cried  Jim  suddenly.  "I  gave  you  my  sign 
and  seal!  Why  did  you  marry  Saradokis?" 

Pen  answered  slowly,  "Jim,  why  wouldn't  you  un 
derstand  and  take  me  West  with  you  when  I  begged 
you  to  ?" 

"Understand  what?"  asked  Jim,  tensely. 

"That  Sara's  hold  on  me  was  almost  hypnotic,  that 
it  was  you  I  really  cared  for,  as  I  realized  as  soon  as 
Sara  was  hurt.  If  only  you  had  had  the  courage  of 
your  convictions,  Still!" 


THE    TENT    HOUSE  151 

Jim  winced  but  found  no  reply  and  Pen  went  on, 
her  voice  meditative  and  soft  as  if  she  were  talking  not 
of  herself  but  of  some  half-forgotten  acquaintance. 

"I  used  to  feel  resentful  that  Sara  thought  I  was 
worth  such  constant  attention,  while  you,  in  spite  of 
the  Sign  and  Seal,  were  quite  as  contented  with  Uncle 
Denny  as  with  me.  And  yet,  after  it  all  \vas  over  and 
I  had  settled  down  to  nursing  Sara  for  the  rest  of  my 
life,  I  could  see  that  I  had  had  nothing  to  give  you 
then  and  Uncle  Denny  had.  Life  is  so  mercilessly 
logical — to  look  back  on,  Jimmy." 

Jim  put  his  hand  over  the  cold  little  fingers  on  his 
arm.  Pen  went  on.  "I  did  not  try  to  \vrite  to  you. 
I- 

But  Jim  could  bear  no  more.  "Pen !  Pen !  What  a 
miserable  fool  I  am !" 

"You  are  nothing  of  the  kind !"  exclaimed  Pen,  in 
dignantly  "What  do  you  think  of  the  mess  I've  made 
of  my  life,  if  you  think  you  are  foolish?" 

"What  am  I  to  do  ?  How  can  I  make  it  up  to  you  ?" 
cried  Jim. 

"By  letting  me  stay  in  your  desert  for  a  time,"  an 
swered  Pen.  "I  know  I'm  going  to  love  it." 

.They  were  at  Jim's  doorstep  and  he  made  no  reply. 
As  usual,  words  seemed  futile  to  him.  He  showed 
Pen  his  house  and  found  the  tobacco,  letting  Mrs. 
Flynn  do  all  the  talking.  Then,  still  in  silence,  he  led 
Pen  back  to  her  tent.  At  the  door  he  gave  her  the 
tobacco  and  left  her. 

Jim  had  a  bad  night.  He  stayed  in  bed  until  mid 
night;  then  to  get  away  from  his  own  thoughts  he 
dressed  and  went  out  to  the  dam.  The  water  had 
reached  its  height.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  save 


152  STILL    JIM 

wait  until  Old  Jezebel  grew  weary  of  mischief.  But 
Jim  tramped  up  and  down  the  great  road  between  the 
dam  and  the  lower  town  all  night. 

His  mind  swung  from  Pen  to  the  Hearing  and  from 
the  Hearing  to  the  flood,  then  back  to  Pen  again. 
From  Pen  his  thoughts  went  to  his  father  and  with 
his  father  he  paused  for  a  long  time. 

Was  the  evil  destiny  that  had  made  his  father  fail 
to  follow  him,  too?  Jim  had  always  believed  himself 
stronger  than  his  father,  somehow  better  fitted  to  cope 
with  destiny.  Yet  ever  since  his  trouble  with  Freet 
on  the  Makon  there  had  been  growing  in  Jim  a  vague 
distrust  of  his  own  powers.  He  could  build  the  dams, 
yes,  if  "they"  would  leave  him  free  to  do  so.  If 
"they"  would  not  fret  and  hound  him  until  his  effi 
ciency  was  gone.  It  was  the  very  subtlety  and  intan 
gibility  of  "they"  that  made  him  uneasy,  made  him 
less  sure  of  himself  and  his  own  ability. 

He  had  planned,  after  he  had  finished  his  work,  to 
turn  his  attention  to  solving  the  problems  of  old  Ex- 
ham.  How  was  he  to  do  this  if  he  was  not  big  enough 
to  cope  with  his  own  circumstance  ?  And  was  he  going 
to  miss  the  continuation  of  the  Manning  line  because 
he  had  failed  to  grasp  opportunity  in  love  as  in  every 
thing  else? 

Dawn  found  Jim  watching  the  Elephant  grow 
bronze  against  the  sky.  The  Elephant  had  a  very  real 
personality  to  Jim  as  it  had  to  everyone  else  in  the 
valley. 

"What  is  to  be,  is  to  be,  eh,  old  friend?"  said  Jim. 
"But  why?  Tell  me  why?" 

The  sun  rolled  up  and  the  Elephant  changed  from 
bronze  to  gold.  Jim  sighed  and  went  up  to  his  house. 


THE    TENT    HOUSE  153 

All  that  day  crowds  of  workmen  on  the  banks 
watched  Old  Jezebel  romp  over  their  working  place 
and  they  swore  large  and  vivid  oaths  regarding  what 
they  would  do  to  her  once  they  got  to  balking  her 
again.  It  was  about  noon  that  a  buckboard  drawn  by 
two  good  horses  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  cable  tower. 
The  driver  called  to  Iron  Skull  Williams,  who  was 
chewing  a  toothpick  and  chatting  to  Pen.  Williams 
led  Pen  up  to  the  buckboard. 

"Like  to  introduce  Oscar  Ames,  one  of  our  old-time 
irrigation  farmers,"  said  Iron  Skull.  "And  this  is 
Mrs.  Ames,  his  boss.  And  this  lady  is  a  friend  of  the 
Big  Boss — Mrs.  Saradokis." 

Pen  held  out  her  hand  and  the  two  women  looked 
at  each  other  in  the  quick  appraising  way  of  women. 
Mrs.  Ames  was  perhaps  fifty  years  old.  She  was  small 
and  thin  and  brown,  with  thin  gray  hair  under  her 
dusty  hat  and  a  thin  throat  showing  under  her  linen 
duster.  Her  face  was  heavily  lined.  Her  eyes  were 
wonderful;  a  clear  blue  with  the  far-seeing  gaze  of 
eyes  that  have  looked  long  on  the  endless  distances  of 
the  desert.  Yet,  perhaps,  the  look  was  not  due  alto 
gether  to  the  desert,  for  young  as  she  was,  Pen's  eyes 
had  the  same  expression. 

"I  am  glad  to  know  you,"  said  Penelope. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Ames,  bashfully. 

Oscar  Ames  shook  hands  heartily.  He  was  a  big 
man  of  fifty,  with  hair  and  skin  one  shade  of  ruddy 
tan. 

"Glad  to  meet  you,  ma'am.  Say,  Iron  Skull,  how'd 
you  come  to  let  the  water  beat  you  to  it?  This  adds 
another  big  cost  to  us  farmers'  bill." 

Williams  grunted.    "Wish  you  folk  had  been  up  on 


154  STILLJIM 

the  Makon.  That's  where  we  had  real  floods.  Ames, 
we  are  doing  our  limit.  Ain't  you  old  enough  yet  to 
know  that  a  lift  under  the  arm  carries  a  fellow  twice 
as  far  as  a  kick  in  the  pants?  Here's  the  Boss  now. 
Light  on  him!  Poor  old  scout!" 

Jim  was  on  horseback.  He  rode  slowly  up  and  dis 
mounted.  "How  are  you,  Ames?  And  Mrs.  Ames? 
Have  you  met  Mrs.  Saradokis?  Ames,  before  you  be 
gin  to  chant  my  funeral  march  let  me  ask  you  if  you 
don't  want  to  sell  that  south  forty  you  say  I'm  not 
irrigating  right.  Mr.  Saradokis  represents  some  East 
ern  interests.  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  meet  him." 

Oscar  grinned  a  little  sheepishly.  "Business  be 
fore  pleasure!  I'll  go  right  up  to  see  him  now." 

"Then  you  must  come  up  with  me,"  said  Penelope 
to  Mrs.  Ames,  and  the  two  women  followed  after  Jim 
and  Oscar. 

The  climb  was  short  but  stiff.  Pen  had  not  yet  be 
come  accustomed  to  the  five  thousand  feet  of  elevation 
at  which  the  officers'  camp  was  set,  so  she  had  no 
breath  for  conversation  until  they  reached  the  tent 
house.  Sara  lay  in  his  invalid  chair  before  the  open 
door,  maps,  tobacco  and  magazines  scattered  over  the 
swing  table  that  covered  his  lap.  Pen,  as  if  to  ward 
off  any  rudeness,  began  to  explain  as  she  mounted  the 
steps : 

"Here  is  a  gentleman  who  has  land  for  sale,  Sara." 
Sara's  scowl  disappeared.  He  gave  the  Ames  family 
such  a  pleasant  welcome  that  Jim  was  puzzled.  Ames 
and  Jim  dropped  down  on  the  doorstep  while  Mrs. 
Ames  and  Pen  took  the  hammock  chairs. 

"Have  you  people  been  long  in  this  country?"  asked 
Pen. 


THE    TENT    HOUSE  155 

"Thirty  years  this  coming  fall,"  replied  Ames,  tak 
ing  the  cigar  Sara  offered  him  and  smelling  it  critic 
ally.  "I  was  a  kid  of  21  when  I  took  up  my  section 
down  on  the  old  canal.  I  couldn't  have  sold  that  land 
for  two  bits  an  acre  a  year  after  I  took  it  up.  I 
refused  two  hundred  dollars  an  acre  for  the  alfalfa 
land  the  other  day." 

"You  must  have  done  some  work  in  the  interval," 
commented  Sara. 

Jim,  leaning  against  the  door  post,  watched  Sara 
through  half  closed  eyes  and  glanced  now  and  again 
at  Pen's  eager  face.  Ames  puffed  at  his  cigar  and 
gazed  out  over  the  desert. 

"Work!"  he  said  with  a  half  laugh,  "why  when  I 
took  up  that  land  sand  and  silence,  whisky  and  poker 
were  the  staples  round  here.  I  built  a  one-room 
adobe,  bought  a  team,  imported  a  plow  and  a  harrow 
and  a  scraper  and  went  at  it.  I've  got  a  ten-acre 
orange  grove  now  and  two  hundred  acres  of  alfalfa 
and  a  foreman  who  lets  me  gad!  But  no  one  who 
ain't  been  a  desert  farmer  can  imagine  how  I  worked." 

Pen  spoke  softly.  "Were  you  with  him  then,  Mrs. 
Ames?" 

The  little  woman  looked  at  Pen  writh  her  far-seeing 
eyes.  "Oh,  yes,  I  don't  know  that  Oscar  remembers, 
but  we  were  married  in  York  State.  I  was  a  school 
teacher." 

After  the  little  laugh  Pen  asked,  "Do  you  like  the 
desert  farming?" 

"I  never  did  get  through  being  homesick,"  answered 
Mrs.  Ames.  "My  first  two  babies  died  there  in  that 
first  little  adobe.  I  was  all  alone  with  them  and  the 
heat  and  the  work." 


156  STILL   JIM 

"Jane,  you  let  me  talk,"  interrupted  Oscar  briskly. 
"We  both  worked.  The  worst  of  everything  was  the 
uncertainty  about  water.  Us  farmers  built  the  dam 
that  laid  sixty  miles  below  here.  Just  where  govern 
ment  diversion  dam  is  now.  But  we  never  knew  when 
the  spring  floods  came  whether  we'd  have  water  that 
year  or  not.  More  and  more  people  took  up  land  and 
tapped  the  river  and  the  main  canal.  Gosh!  It  got 
fierce.  Old  friends  would  accuse  each  other  of  steal 
ing  each  other's  water.  Then  we  had  a  series  of  dry 
years.  No  rain  or  snow  in  the  mountains.  And  green 
things  died  and  shriveled,  aborning.  The  desert  was 
dotted  with  dead  cattle.  Three  years  we  watched  our 
crops  die  and " 

Mrs.  Ames  suddenly  interrupted.  There  was  a  dull 
red  in  her  brown  cheeks.  "I  wanted  to  go  home  the 
third  year  of  the  drought.  All  I  had  to  show  for 
fifteen  years  in  the  desert  was  two  dead  babies.  I 
wanted  to  go  home." 

"And  I  says  to  her,"  said  Ames,  "I  said  Tor  God's 
sake,  Jane,  where  is  home  if  it  isn't  here?  I  can't 
expect  you  to  feel  like  I  do  about  this  ranch  for 
you've  stuck  to  the  house.  I  know  every  inch  of  this 
ranch.  Ain't  I  fought  for  every  acre  of  it,  cactus 
and  sand  storm  and  water  famine?  Ain't  I  sweat 
blood  over  every  acre?  Ain't  I  given  the  best  years 
of  my  life  to  it?  And  you  say,  'Let's  give  it  up!  It 
ain't  home!'  I  certainly  was  surprised  at  Jane." 

"I  have  worked  too,"  said  Jane  Ames,  gently,  to 
Penelope.  "I'd  had  no  help  and  had  cooked  for  half 
a  dozen  men  and — and — then  the  babies!  Having 
four  babies  is  not  play,  you  know!" 

"Oh,  I  know!"  exclaimed  Amos  impatiently.    "You 


THE    TENT    HOUSE  157 

worked.  That  was  why  I  was  so  surprised  at  you 
wanting  to  let  everything  go.  But  you  hadn't  made 
things  grow  like  I  had.  I  suppose  that's  why  you 
felt  different.  That  winter  the  snows  was  heavy  in 
the  mountains  and  we  were  tickled  at  the  thought 
of  high  water  in  the  spring.  We  all  got  out  in  May 
to  strengthen  the  dam,  hauling  brush  and  stone.  But 
the  water  rose  like  the  very  devil.  We  divided  into 
night  and  day  shifts,  then  we  worked  all  the  time. 
But  it  was  no  use.  The  whole  darned  thing  wTent  out 
like  Niagara.  Forty-three  hours  at  a  stretch  I  worked 
and  the  dam  went  out!  And  the  next  year  the  same. 
Then  it  was  that  we  began  to  ask  for  the  Reclamation 
Service." 

Pen  drew  a  long  breath  and  looked  from  Ames' 
strong  tanned  face  out  at  the  breathless  wonder  of  the 
landscape.  Far  beyond  the  brooding  bronze  Elephant 
lay  the  chaos  of  the  desert,  yellow  melting  into  purple 
and  purple  into  the  faint  peaks  of  the  mountains. 

"What  I  can't  understand,  Ames,"  said  Jim  slowly, 
"after  all  this,  is  why  you  roast  the  Service  so." 

Ames  flushed.  "Because,"  he  shouted,  "you  are  so 
damned  pig-headed!  You  aren't  building  the  dam 
for  us  farmers.  You  are  building  it  for  the  glory  of 
your  own  reputation  as  an  engineer." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  in  the  tent  house. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE   END   OF   IRON    SKULL'S   ROAD 

"The  Indians  know  that  the  spirit  blends  with  the 
Greater  Spirit,  and  I  myself  have  seen  every  atom  that 
was  mortal  lift  again  and  again  to  new  life,  out  of  the 
desert's  atom  drift." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

JIM  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Sara's  eyes  narrowed 
as  he  half  smiled  to  himself. 

"For  instance,"  Ames  went  on,  "what  are  you  mak 
ing  the  third  canal  so  big  for  ?  We  don't  need  it  that 
size.  You're  wasting  time  and  our  money.  We've 
got  to  pay  for  the  project,  us  farmers.  You  don't 
take  any  interest  in  that  fact  though." 

"You  don't  need  a  canal  that  big,  but  your  children 
will,"  said  Jim.  "I'm  building  this  dam  for  the  fu 
ture.  You  farmers  never  built  for  anything  but  the 
present.  That's  why  your  dams  went  and  the  water 
wars  were  on.  But  you  can't  teach  a  farmer  any 
thing." 

Jim  spoke  with  a  cold  contempt  that  startled  Pen 
elope.  Ames'  kindly  eyes  were  blazing. 

"No,  but  maybe  us  farmers  can  teach  an  engineer 
something.  And  I  don't  know  a  better  talking  point 
for  starting  an  investigation  than  the  way  you  let  the 
flood  rip  everything  to  pieces." 

158 


ENDOFIRONSKULL'SROAD  159 

"Which  portion  of  your  land  is  for  sale,  Mr. 
Ames?"  asked  Pen.  "My  husband  has  a  map  of  the 
valley  over  there." 

Jim  rose  and  took  up  his  pony's  reins.  "I'm  sorry 
anything  unpleasant  came  up,  Pen.  But  you'll  find 
out  I'm  a  fool  and  a  crook  some  time,  so  it  might  as 
well  be  now.  I  must  get  back."  He  smiled,  lifted 
his  hat  and  rode  off.  The  four  in  the  tent  stared  after 
him. 

"He  always  seems  so  kind  of  alone,"  said  Mrs. 
Ames.  "They  say  his  men  will  do  anything  for  him 
and  yet  he  always  seems  kind  of  lonely.  I  don't 
seem  to  hate  him  the  way  the  rest  of  the  valley  does. 
He's  so  young,  he  don't  know  how  to  be  patient  yet." 

"Oh,  they  don't  hate  him,  do  they!"  protested  Pen. 

"You  bet!"  answered  Ames  succinctly.  Then  he 
added :  "You'll  have  to  excuse  me  saying  that.  I  for 
got  you  was  his  friend.  But  this  here  valley  is  like 
my  child  to  me.  I'm  fighting  for  her." 

"We  want  to  know  the  truth  about  him,"  said  Sara. 
"Are  you  really  trying  to  get  rid  of  him?" 

Ames  nodded  and  picked  up  the  map.  "I  don't 
think  he's  crooked,  like  some  do.  I  just  think  he's  too 
young  and  pig-headed  for  the  job." 

"How  do  you  know  he's  not  crooked?"  asked  Sara. 

Pen  drew  a  startled  breath.  Ames  looked  at  Sara 
curiously.  "I  thought  you  was  his  friend." 

"He's  my  wife's  friend,"  replied  Sara.  "You  know 
what  the  Congressional  committee  reported  about 
him." 

"Sara!"  cried  Pen.  "You  know  Jim  couldn't  do  a 
crooked  thing  to  save  his  life!" 

Sara's  black  eyes  blazed  dangerously.     Mrs.  Ames 


160  STILL    JIM 

stirred  uncomfortably  and  Pen  rose.  "Let's  leave  the 
men  to  their  land  sales  and  go  out  where  we  can  get  a 
view  of  the  camp,  Mrs.  Ames,"  she  said. 

The  two  women  walked  slowly  out  to  the  mountain 
edge  and  settled  themselves  on  a  rock. 

"I'm  sorry  anything  unpleasant  occurred,"  said  Pen. 

"Don't  you  let  it  worry  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Ames. 
"I'm  used  to  it.  Ever  since  the  dam  was  started, 
Oscar  has  been  like  an  old  maid  with  an  adopted 
baby." 

"I'm  so  sorry  Jim  has  made  himself  unpopular 
here,"  said  Pen.  "He  and  I  were  brought  up  by  my 
uncle  who  married  Jim's  mother.  And  Jim  is  fine. 
The  Lord  made  Jim  and  then  broke  the  mold.  There's 
no  one  like  him;  no  one  cleaner  and  truer " 

Mrs.  Ames  looked  at  Pen  thoughtfully.  Then  she 
patted  the  girl's  hand. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  him.  He's  got  lots  to 
learn  but  the  Lord  don't  waste  stuff  like  him.  I  would 
be  perfectly  happy  if  my  boy  turned  out  like  him." 

Pen  smiled  a  little  uncertainly.  "We  who  know 
him  so  well  are  foolish  about  Jim.  Tell  me  about  your 
children." 

"I  have  two  left,"  replied  Mrs.  Ames.  "They're 
at  school  in  Cabillo.  I  was  bound  they  should  have 
their  chance.  I'd  like  to  ask  you  something.  Have 
you  got  a  pattern  for  the  waist  you've  got  on?  I'd 
like  to  make  one  for  my  Mary.  Though  I  don't  know ! 
My  hands  are  so  rough  I  can't  handle  embroidery 
silks  very  good." 

She  held  up  two  work  distorted  hands.  "I  made 
this  blouse  myself,"  said  Pen.  "I'd  love  to  make  one 


END  OFIRON  SKULL'S  ROAD  161 

for  your  Mary.  Time  will  hang  on  my  hands  out 
here,  some  days." 

"That's  nice  of  you/'  said  the  little  desert  woman, 
taking  the  gift  as  simply  as  it  was  offered.  "You  tell 
me  what  materials  to  get.  I  guess  I  can  find  some 
way  to  pay  you  up." 

"Come  to  see  me,  or  let  me  come  to  see  you,"  ex 
claimed  Pen.  "That  will  be  pay  enough.  I  have  few 
friends,  for  my  husband  doesn't  like  them.  But  I  can 
see  that  he  has  taken  a  liking  to  you  two." 

"The  minute  I  saw  you,  I  knew  something  pleasant 
had  happened  to  me,"  said  Jane  Ames.  "You  don't 
mind  having  an  old  woman  for  an  admirer,  do  you?" 

Pen's  dimples  showed.  "The  more  I  see  of  men, 
Mrs.  Ames,  the  better  I  like  women." 

Jane  Ames  nodded  understandingly.  "The  women 
I  know  all  have  got  it  hard  one  way  or  another  but 
I  guess  desert  farming  ain't  the  worst  thing  that  can 
happen  to  a  woman.  Here  comes  Oscar.  I  suppose 
he's  mad  because  I  ain't  down  at  the  buckboard  count 
ing  the  minutes  till  he  gets  to  me.  Good-by,  my  dear ! 
I'll  see  you  soon." 

Pen  did  not  return  to  the  tent  house  at  once.  She 
saw  Iron  Skull  up  on  the  mountainside  watching  a 
group  of  Indians  break  out  the  first  line  of  a  road 
and  she  strolled  over  to  talk  to  him.  Jim's  letters 
home  had  been  full  of  Iron  Skull  and  Pen  felt  as  if 
she  knew  him  well. 

"How  do,  Mrs.  Saradokis?"  said  Williams. 

"Are  they  all  Indians?"  asked  Pen  staring  round- 
eyed  at  the  group  of  workmen. 

Iron  Skull  nodded.  "Jicarilla  and  Mohave  Apaches. 
I've  fought  with  the  older  men.  They  make  good 


162  STILLJIM 

workmen  if  you  understand  them.  Old  Suma-theek 
over  there  is  one  of  my  best  friends." 

There  might  have  been  fifty  of  the  Indians,  stal 
wart  fellows,  using  pick  and  shovel  with  a  deliberate 
grace  that  fascinated  Pen.  She  watched  in  silence  for 
a  moment,  then  she  said : 

"Mr.  Williams.  I'm  worried  about  Jim.  Is  it 
really  true  that  they  are  trying  to  oust  him?" 

Iron  Skull  looked  at  Pen's  anxious  hazel  eyes,  then 
out  at  the  ranges.  Then  he  scratched  his  head. 

"I'm  a  little  worried  myself,  Mrs.  Saradokis.  He's 
up  against  a  bad  proposition  and  he  just  won't  admit 
it.  I  don't  like  to  nag  him.  You  see,  him  and  me 
are  just  naturally  partners  though  I  am  old  enough 
to  be  his  father.  And  there's  some  ways  a  man  can't 
nag  another  man." 

"Do  you  think  I  could  help  him?"  asked  Pen.  "He 
and  I've  always  been  good  friends." 

Williams  hesitated,  then  he  spoke  with  a  sudden 
deep  earnestness  that  surprised  Pen:  "If  you  don't 
help  him,  things  will  be  bad  for  Boss  Still.  And  you're 
the  only  person  I  know  of  that  could  influence  him." 

He  paused  as  he  saw  Pen  flush  painfully,  then  he 
went  on  a  little  awkwardly:  "Maybe  you'll  under 
stand  me  better  if — if  I  tell  you  I  was  with  Boss 
Still  when  a — Mr.  Dennis  wrote  about  your  marriage. 
I  know  about  how  he  felt  and  all  and  I  sort  of  look 
on  your  coming  at  this  particular  time  as  a  kind  of 
a  godsend. 

"Now  I'm  going  to  tell  you  some  things  confiden 
tial  and  leave  it  to  your  judgment  how  to  act.  Boss 
Still,  he  sort  of  worshiped  Freet.  You  know  who 
he  is?" 


ENDOFIRONSKULL'SROAD  163 

Pen  nodded.  Williams  went  on.  "Freet,  as  I  size 
it  up,  wanted  to  break  a  smart  cub  in  to  be  a  kind  of 
cat's  paw  for  him  in  selling  water  power  to  the  right 
folks  and  running  the  canals  right.  It's  darn  seldom 
you  meet  a  good  engineer  that's  money  hungry.  But 
Freet  is.  He's  a  miser  in  a  way.  But  up  on  the 
Makon,  he  found  out  the  Boss  is  as  innocent  as  a 
baby  of  graft  and  more'n  that  he  had  his  head  in  the 
clouds  so's  there  was  mighty  little  hope  of  his  com 
ing  down  to  earth.  So  Freet  got  him  sent  down 
here. 

"Well,  the  time's  coming  down  here  when  there'll 
be  a  nice  lot  of  water  power.  It  belongs  to  the 
farmers  after  they  pay  for  the  dam,  but  the  idea  is 
for  the  engineer  in  charge  to  show  'em  where  to  sell 
it  to  best  advantage.  If  the  engineer  here  ain't  the 
right  kind,  the  Water  Power  trust  can  make  him 
trouble.  All  sorts  of  \vays,  you  see.  Getting  the 
farmers  sore  at  him  is  one.  See  ?" 

Pen  nodded  again,  her  eyes  wide  and  startled. 
"Now,"  said  Iron  Skull,  "don't  be  offended,  but  I'm 
wondering  about  your  husband.  I  know  Freet  knows 
him  and  if  it  should  just  happen  that  your  husband 
had  any  old  scores  to  settle  with  the  Boss " 

He  paused  and  Pen  exclaimed :  "I  believe  we'd  bet 
ter  go  right  back  to  New  York,  though  as  far  as  I 
know  we're  out  here  just  for  Sara's  health  and  for 
him  to  buy  up  some  land  Mr.  Freet  knew  about." 

"Now  don't  get  excited,"  said  Williams.  "Remem 
ber  this  here  is  all  speculation  on  my  part.  You  stay 
right  here.  If  it  wasn't  your  husband,  it  would  be 
someone  else  and  I'd  rather  it  would  be  someone  that 
has  you  to  watch  'em!  And  that  ain't  the  most  im- 


164  STILL    JIM 

portant  part  of  your  job,  either.  Mrs.  Saradokis, 
somehow  the  Boss  ain't  getting  the  grip  on  things  he'd 
ought  to.  I  don't  mean  in  engineering.  He  just 
can't  be  beat  at  that.  I  don't  know  just  what  it  is, 
but  he's  a  big  enough  man  to  have  this  valley  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand.  And  he  ain't.  I  want  you  to 
help  me  find  out  why  and  then  make  him  get  away 
with  it.  This  little  old  United  States  needs  men  of 
his  blood  and  kind  of  mind.  I've  fell  down  on  my 
job.  Don't  you  let  him  fall  down  on  his.  It's  the  one 
way  you  can  pay  up  for — for  the  other  thing  you  took 
out  of  his  life." 

Pen  stood  with  tear-blinded  eyes  and  trembling  lips. 
Iron  Skull  cleared  his  throat :  "I  hope  you  don't  mind 
my  butting  in  this-a-way!" 

Pen  shook  her  head.  "I'll  do  my  best,"  she  said. 
"Only  I'm  pretty  small  for  the  job." 

"Here  he  comes  now,"  said  Williams. 

Jim  rode  up  and  dismounted.  "Hello,  Pen !  What 
do  you  think  of  my  roads?  I'm  crowding  as  many 
men  onto  the  roads  as  I  can  until  the  water  goes 
down.  Idleness  is  bad  for  them.  You  see,  in  spite  of 
electric  lights  and  a  water  system  we're  a  long  way 
from  civilization  and  it  gets  on  the  men's  nerves 
unless  we  keep  'em  busy.  I'm  going  to  start  a  moving 
picture  show  in  the  lower  camp.  The  official  photog 
rapher  will  run  it  for  us.  Just  the  usual  five-cent 
movies,  you  know.  Anything  above  running  expenses 
will  go  toward  the  farmers'  debt." 

Iron  Skull  moved  away  to  speak  to  Suma-theek. 
Jim  went  on  slowly:  "You  can  see  what  I'm  up 
against  in  Ames.  Any  day  I  may  get  a  recall.  Every 
farmer  on  the  project  hates  me  for  some  reason  or 


ENDOFIRONSKULL'SROAD  165 

other.  I  tell  you.  Pen,  if  they  don't  let  me  finish  my 
dam  and  the  roads  to  and  from  it,  it  will  ruin  my  life." 

Pen's  tender  eyes  studied  Jim's  face.  Long  and 
thin,  with  its  dreamer's  forehead  and  its  steel  jaw, 
it  was  the  same  dear  face  that  Penelope  had  carried 
in  her  heart  since  that  spring  day  long  ago  when  a 
long-legged  freshman  had  said  to  her,  "I'm  glad  you 
came.  I'm  going  to  think  a  lot  of  you.  I  can  see 
that." 

"You  know,  Jim,"  she  said,  "that  your  mother  and 
Uncle  Denny  always  shared  your  letters  with  me?" 

Jim  nodded.     "I  wrote  them  for  that." 

"And  so  I  really  know  a  good  deal  about  your 
work.  Uncle  Denny  and  I  studied  the  maps  and  the 
government  reports  and  then  he  actually  saw  the  dams, 
you  know,  and  would  tell  me  all  the  details.  Honestly, 
we'd  qualify  as  experts  in  any  court!  And  if  you'll 
just  let  me  share  your  worries  while  I'm  out  here,  I 
shall  be  prouder  even  than  Uncle  Denny  after  you've 
asked  his  advice.  And  won't  I  crow  over  him  after 
I  get  back  to  New  York !" 

A  glow  came  to  Jim's  eyes  that  had  not  been  there 
for  years.  "Gee,  Pen!  You  tempt  me!  But  I'm 
not  going  to  load  you  up  with  my  troubles.  You  have 
enough  with  Sara.  Perhaps  Sara  will  shoot  Ames 
for  me !  Sara  looks  like  a  sure-enough  gunman,  now. 
How  he  has  changed,  Pen!" 

"If  only  you  could  have  forgiven  him  enough  to 
have  written  him  once  in  a  while,  Jim.  After  all  he's 
been  more  than  punished,  even  for  the  Marathon  mat 
ter  or  for  that  crazy  romance  about  the  ducal  inherit 
ance.  I  realized,  Jim,  after  I  had  married  him,  that 


166  STILL   JIM 

Sara  was  quite  capable  of  the  Marathon  incident. 
Yet  I  wish  you  had  forgiven  him!" 

"The  Marathon,  Pen!"  cried  Jim.  "For  heaven's 
sake,  don't  suppose  that  was  why  I  didn't  write  to 
Sara !  It's  the  dirty  trick  he  did  in  marrying  you  that 
I'll  never  get  over!" 

"Oh,  but  that's  not  fair!"  returned  Pen.  "He— well, 
anyway,  he's  a  cripple  now  and  needs  your  help." 

"I— help  Sara!"  exclaimed  Jim.  "Why  I  simply 
don't  know  he's  living !  It's  my  turn  now.  Sara  has 
had  his  innings.  Desert  methods  are  perfectly  simple 
and  direct  and  I'm  a  desert  man.  You  are  here  with 
me,  Penelope,  and  you  are  going  to  stay  with  me." 

Iron  Skull  was  coming  back.  Pen  laughed.  "You 
and  Sara  ought  to  write  movie  dramas,  Jim."  Then 
she  sobered.  "Don't  misunderstand  my  coming  to  the 
dam,  Jimmy.  I've  learned  a  good  many  things  since 
you  left  me  in  New  York.  One  thing  is  that  we  can't 
cut  our  lives  loose  from  other  lives  and  be  a  law  to 
ourselves.  Another  is  that  any  responsibility  we  take 
up  voluntarily  ought  to  be  carried  to  the  end." 

Jim  looked  at  Pen  curiously  and  his  jaw  set.  She 
was  several  years  younger  than  Jim,  yet  something 
had  come  to  her  in  the  years  just  past  that  made  him 
in  some  ways  feel  immature.  But  Jim  had  not  hun 
gered  and  thirsted  for  eight  years  in  starry  solitudes 
with  one  memory  and  one  dream  to  keep  his  heart 
alive,  to  relinquish  the  dream  without  a  fight. 

"Penelope,"  he  said,  "you  don't  know  me." 

Pen  smiled.  "I  know  you  to  the  last  hair  in  that 
brown  thatch  of  yours,  Still  Jim."  Then  she  turned 
to  Iron  Skull,  who  was  eager  to  have  her  talk  to  old 
Suma-theek. 


ENDOFIRONSKULL'SROAD  167 

For  some  days  Jim  had  no  opportunity  to  continue 
Pen's  education  with  himself  as  textbook.  He  was 
engrossed  in  watching  and  tending  the  flood.  Old 
Jezebel  enjoyed  herself  thoroughly  for  a  week.  She 
fought  and  scratched  at  the  mountainsides,  but  save 
the  chafing  of  purple  lava  dust  from  their  sides 
she  made  no  impression  on  their  imperturbability. 
She  ripped  down  the  last  pouring,  contemptuously 
leaving  tons  of  rock  and  concrete  at  the  foot  of  the 
concrete  section.  She  roared  and  howled  and  shook 
the  good  earth  with  the  noise  of  a  railway  train  tear 
ing  through  a  tunnel.  And  Jim  laughed. 

"If  it  wasn't  for  you,  old  girl,"  he  told  her  one 
afternoon,  "I'd  go  crazy  with  the  flea  bitings  of  the 
Enemy.  But  you,  bless  your  wicked  soul,  are  an 
honest  part  of  the  game.  I  was  bred  from  the  be 
ginning  to  fight  floods.  You  attack  in  the  open,  like 
an  honest  vixen.  Wait  till  I  get  my  clutches  on  you 
again." 

As  Jim  finished  this  soliloquy  with  considerable  sat 
isfaction  to  himself,  Iron  Skull  came  up  and  laid  a 
newspaper  on  his  saddle  horn. 

"The  newspapers  are  roasting  you,  Boss  Still." 

"What  do  they  say  this  time,  Iron  Skull?"  Jim  did 
not  offer  to  lift  the  paper. 

"You  are  inefficient.  A  friend  of  Freet's.  They 
don't  say  you  caused  high  water  but  they  insinuate 
you  suggested  it  to  the  weather  man.  You'd  ought 
to  tell  the  Secretary  of  the  Interior  the  whole  truth 
about  the  Makon,  Boss  Still." 

"I  can't  do  that,  Iron  Skull.    I'm  no  squealer." 

"I  know.     And  I've  always  advised  you  to  keep 


168  STILL   JIM 

your  mouth  shut.  But  write  to  the  editor  of  this 
paper,  Boss." 

Jim  did  not  reply  at  once.  The  two  were  on  the 
mountainside,  not  a  great  distance  from  Pen's  house 
past  which  the  new  road  was  to  run.  The  Indians 
were  making  ready  for  the  sunset  blasts.  Above  the 
distant  roar  of  old  Jezebel,  old  Suma-theek's  foreman's 
whistle  sounded  clear  and  sweet  as  he  signaled  his 
men. 

This  was  Geronimo's  country,  the  land  of  the  great 
est  of  the  Apache  fighters.  All  about  were  the  trails 
he  and  his  people  had  made.  Yonder  to  the  north, 
across  a  harsh  peak,  was  Geronimo's  own  pass.  And 
now  the  last  of  Geronimo's  race  was  building  new 
trails  for  a  new  people. 

The  naked  beauty  of  the  brown  and  lavender  ranges, 
the  wholesome  tang  of  the  thin  air,  the  far  sweep  of 
the  afternoon  sky,  seemed  suddenly  remote  to  Jim. 

"It's  bigger  than  any  editor,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
know  what  is  the  matter.  My  only  hope  is  that  I  can 
finish  my  dam  before  they  get  me." 

"You've  got  to  fight  back,  now,"  persisted  Iron 
Skull. 

"It's  not  my  business  to  fight  for  permission  to 
build  this  project!"  cried  Jim.  "I  was  hired  to 
build  it !  I  was  hired  to  fight  old  Jezebel  and  not  the 
farmers !" 

The  little  superintendent  laid  a  knotted  hand  on 
Jim's  knee.  "You  must  take  my  advice  in  this,  part 
ner.  I'm  an  old  man  and  I'm  likely  to  go  any  time. 
I'd  like  to  feel  that  I'd  helped  you  into  a  big  success. 
It's  the  only  record  I'll  leave  behind  me  except  a  few 
dead  Injuns.  We  both  come  of  good  old  New  Eng- 


ENDOFIRONSKULL'SROAD  169 

land  stock  and  we've  got  to  show  the  old  fighting  blood 
ain't  dead  yet.  I  want  to  tell  you — Hi !  Suma-theek ! 
Jump!  Jump!" 

Suma-theek  was  standing  close  to  the  mountain 
side  out  of  \vhich  a  blast  had  cut  a  great  slice  of  rock. 
Up  above  his  head  some  loosened  stone  was  slipping 
down  the  mountain.  As  he  called  and  before  either 
Jim  or  the  Indian  saw  the  impending  danger,  Iron 
Skull  dashed  across  the  road  and  shoved  Suma-theek 
out  of  the  danger  line.  But  he  miscalculated  his  own 
agility.  The  rapidly-sliding  rock  caught  him  on  the 
head  and  he  who  had  shed  Indian  bullets  like  rain 
drops  went  down  like  a  pinon,  smitten  by  lightning. 

For  one  breath  there  was  an  appalling  silence  on 
the  mountainside.  The  Apaches  stood  like  a  group  of 
bronzes.  The  eagle  who  lived  on  the  Elephant's  side 
hung  motionless  high  above  the  road.  A  cotton-tail 
sat  with  quivering  nose  and  inquiring  ears  above  the 
rift  of  the  slide. 

Then,  with  a  shout,  Jim  flung  himself  from  his 
horse  and  thrust  the  reins  into  an  Indian's  hands. 

"Ride  for  the  doctor!"  and  the  Indian  was  off  like 
a  racing  shadow. 

At  Jim's  call,  old  Suma-theek  gave  a  great  groan 
and  ran  to  lift  Iron  Skull's  head.  The  Indians  gath 
ered  about  in  wonder  as  Jim  knelt  beside  his  friend. 
For  Iron  Skull  was  dead. 

Penelope  ran  out  of  the  tent  house  at  Jim's 
shout  and  made  her  way  among  the  Indians  to  Jim's 
side. 

"O  Jim!"  she  cried.  "O  Jim!  O  Jim!"  Then 
she  dropped  down  and  lifted  the  quiet  face  into  her 
lap  and  wiped  the  blood  from  it  and  fell  to  sobbing 


iyo  STILL   JIM 

over  it.  "Oh,  what  a  useless  death!"  she  sobbed. 
"What  a  useless  death !" 

Jim  held  his  dead  friend's  hand  close  in  his  own. 
Through  his  tear-blinded  eyes  he  saw  a  golden  August 
field  and  felt  other  fingers  clinging  to  his  own. 

The  doctor,  driving  the  mule  ambulance,  dashed  up 
the  half-made  road.  He  looked  Iron  Skull  over,  and 
shook  his  head.  "Get  the  stretcher  out,"  he  said  to 
Jim. 

Four  Indians  lifted  the  stretcher  with  Iron  Skull  on 
it,  but  when  they  would  have  put  it  in  the  ambulance, 
old  Suma-theek  stepped  forward.  He  was  taller  even 
than  Jim.  His  face  was  lean  and  wrinkled.  His  eyes 
were  deep-set  and  tragic.  He  wore  a  twist  of  red 
cloth  filet-wise  around  his  head. 

"He  die  for  Injun.  Let  Injun  carry  'em  home," 
said  the  old  Apache.  "He  heap  good  fighter.  He 
speak  truth.  He  keep  word.  He  a  big  chief.  He  die 
for  Apache.  Let  Apache  carry  'em  home." 

The  doctor  looked  inquiringly  at  Jim  who  nodded. 

"I'll  go  on  down  to  his  house  and  get  things  ready 
for  him,"  said  the  doctor  and  he  drove  off. 

Jim  and  Penelope  stood  back.  The  four  Indians 
bearing  the  stretcher  followed  after  Suma-theek  and 
in  a  long  single  line  the  remaining  Apaches  followed, 
joining  Suma-theek  in  the  death  chant  which  is  the 
very  soul  cry  of  the  desolate: 

"Ai!    Ai!    Ai!    Beloved! 
"Ai!   Ai!   Ai!    Beloved!" 


Down  the  winding  road  in  a  world  all  liquid  gold 
from  the  setting  sun,  past  the  great  shadow  of  the 


END  OF  IRON  SKULL'S  ROAD  171 

brooding  elephant,  past  the  cable  towers  and  the  engine 
house  where  the  workmen  stared,  motionless  and 
aghast,  into  the  twilight  of  the  valley  where  the  electric 
lights  flared,  the  chanting  Indians  carried  the  old 
shedder  of  bullets  and  laid  him  on  his  bed. 

The  camp  was  very  silent  that  night.  The  Mexicans 
had  feared  and  respected  the  little  Superintendent. 
They  had  shared  with  the  Indians  the  belief  that  the 
Little  Boss  could  not  be  killed.  The  remains  of  the 
old  Makon  Pack  were  openly  grief -stricken  and  told 
half -whispered  stories  of  Iron  Skull's  prowess  in  the 
old  days  of  tunnel  building.  The  camp  was  smitten 
with  awe  at  this  sudden  withdrawal.  Sudden  death 
was  the  rule  on  the  Projects,  yet  it  always  left  the 
camp  breathless  with  surprise.  The  little  community 
of  twelve  hundred  souls,  so  isolated,  so  close  to  the 
primeval  despite  its  electric  lights,  suddenly  felt  utterly 
alone  and  helpless. 

Close  after  eight  o'clock  Jim  dashed  out  of  his  house 
as  if  a  voice  had  called  him.  He  dropped  down  the 
steep  trail  to  the  canyon,  crossed  the  canyon  and  took 
the  steep  trail  up  the  Elephant's  side.  It  was  a  sharp 
lift  but  Jim's  long  legs  took  it  easily.  When  he 
reached  the  Elephant's  top  he  crossed  the. broad  back 
to  a  heap  of  bowlders  and  threw  himself  down  in 
their  shelter. 

It  was  a  moonlit  night.  Silver  lay  the  desert  with 
the  black  scratch  of  old  Jezebel  across  it  and  the 
ragged  purple  shadows  of  the  ranges  to  the  east.  Jim 
sat,  chin  in  palm,  elbow  on  knee,  eyes  wide  on  the 
soft  wonder  of  the  night.  It  always  seemed  to  him 
that  the  desert  night  freed  him  of  time  and  space 
and  set  him  close  to  the  Master  Dream.  He  had 


172  STILL   JIM 

learned  to  take  his  grief  and  his  despairs  to  the  desert 
mountain  tops. 

He  had  sat  for  an  hour  going  over  his  life  and  his 
friendship  with  Iron  Skull  when  a  quick  step  sounded 
on  the  Elephant's  back  and  Penelope  swung  past  him 
out  to  the  edge  of  the  crater  that  formed  the  Ele 
phant's  east  side.  She  stood  there,  her  gray  suit  flut 
tering  in  the  night  wind,  looking  far  and  wide  as  if 
the  view  were  new  to  her.  Then  she  sat  down  on  the 
ground,  clasped  her  arms  across  her  knees  and  bowed 
her  head  upon  them.  There  was  so  much  despair  in 
the  gesture  that  Jim  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  it. 


CHAPTER    XIV 


"All  living  things  have  a  universal  hunger — to  live 
again.  The  hunger  for  descendants  is  the  same 
hunger." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

PENELOPE!"  Jim  called  softly. 
Pen  raised  her  head  as  if  she  were  dreaming. 

"Pen!"  repeated  Jim,  rising  and  walking  slowly 
toward  her.  "Don't  sit  so  near  the  edge." 

"You  can  see  the  eagle's  nest  from  here,"  said  Pen, 
pointing  down  the  crater  wall.  "What  brought  you 
up  here,  Still?" 

"The  Elephant  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  particu 
larly  when  I'm  broken  up  as  I  am  tonight,"  replied 
Jim,  taking  Pen's  hand  and  leading  her  back  to  his 
own  place  which  was  sheltered  from  the  wind.  "What 
brought  you  here?  And  how  about  Sara?" 

"Sara  took  some  morphine  tonight.  He  will  be 
motionless  until  morning.  Ever  since  the  new  moon 
came,  I've  been  promising  myself  a  trip  up  here." 

"So  Sara  adds  dope  to  his  other  accomplishments!" 
commented  Jim. 

"He  suffers  so  from  insomnia,  I  don't  blame  him," 
answered  Pen.  "He  has  pain  practically  all  of  the 

173 


174  STILL   JIM 

time.  I  think  he  gradually  grows  worse.  Poor  Sara ! 
He  said  tonight  he  hated  the  sight  of  even  a  dog 
that  can  use  its  own  legs.  Don't  be  too  hard  on  him, 
Jim." 

"I  can't  help  being  hard  on  him  when  I  see  how  he 
treats  you,  the  cad !"  said  Jim. 

"He  can't  hurt  me,"  said  Pen.  "I'm  too  sorry  for 
him.  Though  I'll  admit  that  I  never  knew  what  it  was 
to  lose  control  of  my  temper  until  after  I  was  mar 
ried.  Still,  where  will  they  bury  Iron  Skull?" 

"We  have  a  little  graveyard  high  on  the  mesa-top, 
yonder.  He  had  not  a  relative  in  the  world.  He  was 
of  good  old  New  England  stock.  He  was  trying  to 
tell  me  something  about  his  feeling  for  the  Dam  be 
cause  of  that  when  he  was  killed." 

Jim  was  speaking  a  little  brokenly  and  Pen  laid  her 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"The  big  dangers  on  the  dam,  we  try  to  guard 
against.  We  can't  even  foresee  a  thing  like  Iron 
Skull's  sacrifice.  But  I  know  he  would  have  liked  to 
have  gone  giving  his  life  for  someone  he  loved  the 
way  he  did  old  Suma-theek.  Sometimes  I  think  there 
ought  to  be  listed  on  a  bronze  tablet  on  the  wall  of 
each  great  structure  the  names  of  those  who  died  in 
giving  it  birth.  The  big  structures  all  are  conse 
crated  in  blood.  Skyscrapers,  bridges,  and  dams  all 
demand  their  human  sacrifices.  Thirty  men  went  on 
the  Makon.  We've  lost  eight  here  so  far." 

"Sara  was  frightfully  upset,"  said  Pen.  "That's 
why  he  took  the  morphine.  Any  thought  of  death 
makes  him  hysterical.  The  chant  set  him  to  swearing 
frightfully.  Jim,  I'd  give  anything  to  be  able  to  set 
Sara  right  with  himself." 


THE     ELEPHANT'S     BACK      175 

"Pen,  why  did  Sara  come  down  here?"  asked  Jim 
abruptly. 

Penelope  hesitated.  She  did  not  want  to  voice  Iron 
Skull's  suspicions  until  she  had  verified  them.  "I  don't 
know,  Jim,"  she  said  finally.  "I  thought  it  was  for 
his  health  and  land,  but  I  feel  uneasy  since  I  see  his 
attitude  toward  you." 

"If  he  has  an  idea  of  speculating  in  real  estate,  I'll 
have  to  head  him  off,"  said  Jim.  "Land  speculation 
hurts  the  projects  very  seriously." 

"What  harm  does  it  do?"  asked  Pen. 

"Inflates  land  values  so  that  farming  doesn't  pay 
with  the  already  heavy  building  charges  for  the  dam." 

"Oh,  I  see!"  mused  Pen.   "I'll  talk  to  Sara  about  it." 

"Don't  say  a  word  to  him.  I  can  fight  my  own  bat 
tles  with  Sara.  Penelope,  what  were  you  thinking 
about  when  you  sat  over  there  at  the  crater  edge  with 
your  head  on  your  arms?" 

In  the  moonlight  a  slow  red  stained  Pen's  face. 
Jim  watched  her  with  puzzled  eyes. 

"I — I  can't  tell  you  all  I  was  thinking,"  she  said. 
"But  some  of  it  was  because  of  Iron  Skull.  I  was 
thinking  how  awful  it  will  be  for  us  to  die,  you  and 
Sara  and  me,  leaving  not  a  human  being  behind  us, 
just  as  Iron  Skull  did." 

"Most  of  us  New  Englanders  are  going  that  way," 
said  Jim.  "We  Americans  have  so  steadily  decreased 
our  birth  rate  in  the  past  hundred  years  that  we  are 
nearly  seven  million  babies  below  normal.  South 
European  children  will  take  their  places." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  it  will  hurt  America  in 
the  long  run,"  said  Pen. 

"I  think  it  will,"  insisted  Jim.     "This  country  is 


176  STILL   JIM 

governed  by  institutions  that  are  inherently  Teutonic. 
The  people  who  will  inherit  these  institutions  are  fun 
damentally  different  in  their  conceptions  of  govern 
ment  and  education.  I'm  a  New  Englander,  descend 
ant  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  founders  of  the  country.  I 
can't  see  my  race  and  its  ideal  passing  without  its 
breaking  my  heart." 

"Why  do  you  pass?"  asked  Pen  sharply.  "Why 
don't  you  brace  up?" 

"We  don't  know  how,"  said  Jim. 

"I  wonder  if  that's  true,"  murmured  Pen,  "and  if  it 
is  true,  why!" 

Silence  fell  between  the  two.  The  night  wind  sighed 
softly  over  the  Elephant's  broad  back.  The  eagle,  dis 
turbed  by  the  voices  above  his  nest,  soared  suddenly 
from  the  crater,  dipped  across  the  canyon,  and  circled 
the  flag  that  was  seldom  lowered  before  the  office. 
The  flag  fluttered  remotely  in  the  moonlight. 

"Look,  Jim,"  whispered  Pen,  "the  eagle  and  the  flag 
so  young  and  the  Elephant  so  old  and  poor  Iron  Skull 
lying  there  dead !  I  wish  I  could  make  a  legend  from 
it.  The  material  is  there.  .  .  .  Oh,  Sara  said  such 
horrible  things  tonight!" 

Penelope  shivered.  Jim  jumped  up  and  held  out  his 
hand.  "Come,  little  Pen!  I'm  going  to  take  you 
home.  How  cold  your  fingers  are!" 

Jim  kept  Pen's  cold  little  hand  warm  within  his 
own  whenever  the  trail  permitted  on  the  way  back. 
But  he  scarcely  spoke  again. 

The  next  day  Iron  Skull's  funeral  was  held  in  the 
little  adobe  chapel  which  was  filled  to  overflowing.  A 
great  crowd  of  workmen,  Americans,  Mexicans  and 
Indians,  gathered  outside.  At  Suma-theek's  earnest 


THE    ELEPHANT'S     BACK      177 

petition,  Jim  allowed  the  Indians  to  carry  the  coffin 
on  their  shoulders  up  the  trail  behind  the  lower  town 
to  the  mesa  crest  where  the  little  graveyard  lay.  And 
Jim  also  gave  Suma-theek  permission  to  make  a  fare 
well  speech  when  the  grave  had  been  filled.  The  mis 
sionary  had  protested  but  Jim  was  obdurate. 

"Suma-theek  owes  his  life  to  Iron  Skull.  I  shall 
let  him  do  his  uttermost  to  show  his  gratitude.  He  is 
a  fine  old  man,  as  fine  in  the  eyes  of  God,  no  doubt, 
as  you  or  I,  Mr.  Smiley/' 

So  as  the  last  of  the  sand  and  gravel  was  being 
shoveled  into  the  grave,  the  old  Apache  stepped  for 
ward  and  raised  his  lean  brown  hand. 

"My  blood  brother,"  he  said,  "he  lies  in  this  grave. 
If  he  have  squaw  or  childs,  old  Suma-theek,  he  go  give 
life  for  them.  Iron  Skull  he  no  have  anyone  left  on 
this  earth  who  carry  his  blood.  He  gone!  He  leave 
no  mark  but  in  my  heart.  Injun  and  white  they 
come  like  pile  of  sand  desert  wind  drifts  up.  They  go 
like  pile  of  sand  desert  wind  blows  down.  Great 
Spirit,  He  say,  'Only  one  strength  for  mens;  that  the 
strength  of  many  childs,  Injuns,  they  no  have  many 
childs.  They  die.  Mexicans  they  have  many  childs, 
they  live.  Niggers,  they  have  many.  They  live. 
Whites  they  no  have  many  childs.  Come  some  day 
like  Injuns,  like  Iron  Skull,  they  see  on  all  of  earth, 
no  blood  like  theirs.  They  lay  them  down  to  die 
alone.  Old  Iron  Skull,  he  a  real  man.  He  fight  much. 
He  work  hard.  He  keep  word.  He  die  for  friend. 
Maybe  when  Great  Spirit  look  down  at  Iron  Skull,  it 
make  Him  love  Iron  Skull  to  know  old  Injun  carry 
Iron  Skull's  mark  in  his  lonely  heart.  O  friends,  I 
know  him  many,  many  years !  We  smoke  many  pipes 


178  STILLJIM 

together.  We  hunt  together.  We  sabez  each  other's 
hearts.  Ai !  Ai !  Ai !  Beloved !" 

And  old  Suma-theek  broke  down  and  cried  like  a 
child. 

The  crowd  dispersed  silently.  The  rising  night  wind 
began  its  task  of  sifting  sand  across  Iron  Skull's  grave. 
Coyotes  howled  far  on  the  mountain  tops.  And  the 
night  shift  began  to  repair  the  cofferdam  for  old 
Jezebel  had  dropped  suddenly  back  into  her  old  trail. 

A  day  or  so  after  the  funeral  Sara  said  to  Penelope, 
"When  are  you  going  down  to  see  Mrs.  Ames?" 

"What  makes  you  so'  friendly  to  the  Ames  family?" 
Pen  asked  in  surprise. 

"Ames  may  be  useful  to  me,"  replied  Sara.  "I 
want  you  to  cultivate  him." 

"I'll  not  do  it  for  any  such  reason,"  said  Pen  quickly. 
"I  like  Mrs.  Ames  and  I  plan  to  see  a  great  deal  of 
her.  But  I'll  not  play  cat's  paw  for  you.  What  are 
you  up  to,  Sara  ?" 

"None  of  your  business,"  said  Sara. 

Pen  flushed,  but  fell  back  on  the  whimsical  manner 
that  was  her  defense  against  Sara's  ill-nature. 

"It's  your  subtlety  that  fascinates  me,  Sara.  Did 
you  ever  try  a  steam  roller?" 

Sara  scowled :  "Of  course,  I  suppose  it's  too  much 
to  ask  you  to  take  an  interest  in  my  business  affairs. 
If  I  were  a  well  man,  I  might  hope  to  make  an  im 
pression  on  you." 

"By  the  way,  Sara,"  said  Pen,  "land  speculation 
hurts  these  Projects.  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  try 
to  make  money  that  way.  Of  course,  if  Mr.  Ames 
wants  to  sell  you  some  land,  I  suppose  I  can't  keep 
you  from  buying,  but  Jim  says  that,  coupled  with  the 


THE     ELEPHANT'S     BACK      179 

heavy  building  charges,  inflated  land  values  are  doing 
the  Service  a  lot  of  harm." 

Pen  watched  Sara  closely.  Sara  when  calm  was 
close-mouthed.  Sara  when  angry  was  apt  to  talk! 
His  face  flushed  quickly. 

"Jim!  Jim!"  he  sneered.  "I  heard  it  all  the  time 
in  New  York  and  now  I'm  getting  it  here.  Oh,  wait 
and  see,  the  two  of  you!" 

For  the  first  time  since  the  first  years  of  bitter 
adjustment,  Pen  showed  fire.  She  crossed  the  room 
and  stood  over  Sara's  couch,  her  cheeks  scarlet,  her 
hazel  eyes  deep  with  some  suppressed  fire. 

"Do  you  think  I  fear  you,  with  your  vile  tongue 
and  your  yellow  heart,  George  Saradokis?  There  is 
neither  fear  nor  love  nor  hope  nor  regret  left  in  my 
heart !  It  long  ago  learned  that  marriage  is  a  travesty 
and  our  marriage  a  nightmare.  Do  you  think  your 
impudence  or  your  threats  hurt  me  any  more?  You 
waste  your  breath  if  you  do.  You  and  I  have  made 
a  hopeless  mess  of  our  lives.  Jim  is  doing  a  big  work. 
If  I  find  you  are  laying  a  straw  in  his  way,  I'll — I'll 
shove  you,  couch  and  all,  over  the  canyon  edge." 

Sara  suddenly  laughed.  Even  as  she  uttered  her 
threat  Pen  was  mechanically  straightening  his  pillow! 

"Look  here,  Pen,"  he  said,  "I  know  I'm  a  devil! 
The  pain  and  the  awful  failure  of  my  life  make  me 
that.  But  I'll  try  to  be  more  decent.  For  the  Lord's 
sake,  Pen,  don't  you  go  back  on  me  or  I'll  take  an  over 
dose  of  morphine.  I  do  want  to  make  some  money 
and  any  land  deal  that  Ames  and  I  put  through,  I'll 
let  Jim  pass  on.  Does  that  satisfy  you?" 

It  was  not  often  that  Sara  tried  to  wheedle  Pen. 
She  looked  at  him  suspiciously  but  nodded  carelessly. 


i8o  STILL    JIM 

"All  right!  If  Jim  sees  it  I'll  consent.  If  you  get 
any  honest  enjoyment  out  of  Mr.  Ames,  I'll  get  him 
up  here  often.  Mrs.  Ames  is  a  dear." 

"You  are  a  good  old  sort,  Pen,"  returned  Sara. 
"Why  can't  you  go  down  tomorrow?  Mrs.  Flynn 
would  look  out  for  me,  I  guess.  They  say  that  fellow 
Bill  Evans  will  ride  people  anywhere  in  his  machine." 

"I'll  go  over  and  see  Mrs.  Flynn  now,"  said  Pen. 
She  was  really  eager  for  a  visit  with  Jane  Ames.  She 
wondered  if  Iron  Skull  might  not  have  been  over- 
suspicious  regarding  Sara's  purposes.  Sara  had  an 
unquenchable  itch  for  money-making.  During  all  his 
long  illness  he  had  never  ceased,  with  his  father's  help, 
to  trade  in  real  estate.  Pen  suspected  that  the  savings 
of  many  Greek  immigrants  were  absorbed  in  Sara's 
and  his  father's  schemes,  none  too  honestly. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Pen,  as  she  pinned  on  her  hat,  "Jim 
would  take  me  down.  Doesn't  it  seem  natural  though 
to  have  Jim  doing  things  for  me  again!" 

Some  note  in  Pen's  voice  brought  Sara  to  his  elbow. 
"Pen!"  he  shouted.  "I've  long  suspected  it.  Are 
you  in  love  with  Jim  Manning?" 


CHAPTER    XV 

THE   HEART   OF  A  DESERT  WIFE 

"The  squaws  who  come  at  times  to  crouch  upon  my 
back  have  the  slow  listening  patience  of  the  rabbits." 
MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

PEN  paused,  eyes  angry,  mouth  disgusted : 
"You  are  the  last  person  I'd  ever  tell,  Sara,  if  I 
were.     Don't  add  idiocy  to  your  other  accomplish 
ments." 

Sara's  black  eyes  continued  to  glare  for  a  moment. 
Then  for  the  second  time  he  astonished  Penelope  by 
laughing.  He  dropped  back  on  his  pillow. 

"Pen!  Pen!  a  lawyer  could  have  given  no  better 
answer  than  that!  I'm  not  worrying,  Pen.  You've 
stuck  by  me  all  these  years.  I  know  I'm  safe  to  the 
end." 

Penelope's  scorn  changed  to  pity.  "I've  been  hor 
rid  today.  You  will  have  to  forgive  me,  Sara.  You 
must  remember  that  you  are  no  mild  June  day  to  live 
with!" 

Sara  gave  a  short  nod.  "Give  me  my  pipe,  Pen, 
and  then  jolly  Mrs.  Flynn  up." 

Mrs.  Flynn,  whose  curiosity  was  only  equaled  by 
her  kindness  of  heart,  was  only  too  willing  to  take  care 
of  Sara.  Had  a  caged  South  African  lion  been  placed 

181 


182  STILL   JIM 

in  her  care  she  would  have  had  the  same  thrill  at  the 
thought  of  caring  for  it  as  at  watching  Sara.  Great 
stories  of  Sara's  marvelous  temper  had  gone  about  the 
camp.  Any  extra  steps  he  caused  Mrs.  Flynn  she  felt 
would  be  more  than  compensated  for  in  the  delectable 
gossip  she  would  pick. 

Pen  did  not  ask  Jim  to  take  her  down  to  the  Ames 
place.  She  arranged  to  go  down  with  Bill  Evans,  who 
kept  a  hog  ranch  near  the  dam.  Bill  fed  his  hogs  on 
the  camp  table  scrapings  and  filled  in  odd  moments 
"renting  out"  his  automobile.  This  was  a  sad-looking 
vehicle  of  an  early  vintage,  held  together  by  binding 
wire  and  bits  of  sheet  iron.  But  Bill  got  twenty  miles 
an  hour  out  of  the  machine  and  took  better  care  of  it 
than  he  did  of  his  wife. 

The  Ames  ranch  lay  in  the  desert  valley  below  the 
dam.  Two  hours  after  they  left  the  dam,  Bill  drew 
up  before  the  Ames  door  with  a  rattle  and  a  series 
of  staccato  explosions  that  would  have  done  credit  to 
an  approaching  army. 

The  trip  down  had  been  a  noisy  rush  through  multi 
colored  ranges  out  onto  a  desert  floor  of  brilliant 
yellow  dotted  with  giant  cactus,  that  austere  sentinel 
of  the  desolate  plains.  Long  before  they  left  the 
mountain  road  Bill  pointed  out  to  Penelope  the  green 
spot  in  the  desert  that  was  the  Ames  ranch.  The  road, 
leaving  the  desert,  ran  along  an  irrigating  ditch  fringed 
with  cottonwoods.  Beyond  the  road  lay  acre  after 
acre  of  alfalfa,  its  peculiar  living  green  melting  far 
beyond  in  the  shimmering  of  olive  orchard  and  orange 
grove. 

The  ranch  house  was  of  yellow  gray  adobe,  long 
and  low,  with  a  red  roof.  Oscar  had  made  no  attempt 


HEART   OF  A   DESERT   WIFE     183 

at  beauty  when  he  had  added,  year  after  year,  room 
on  room  to  the  original  box  he  had  built  for  Jane. 
But  he  unknowingly  had  kept  close  to  real  art.  He 
had  built  of  the  material  of  the  country  in  the  manner 
best  suited  to  the  exigencies  of  the  country.  The  re 
sult,  consequently,  was  satisfying  to  eye  and  taste. 

The  walls  of  a  desert  house  must  be  thick,  for  cool 
ness.  The  lines  of  the  house  must  be  broad  and  low 
and  strong,  to  withstand  the  fearful  winds  of  late  win 
ter  and  early  spring.  The  Ames  house  lay  comforta 
bly  on  the  desert  as  if  it  had  grown  up  out  of  the  sand 
and  proposed  to  live  forever.  It  was  as  natural  a 
part  of  the  landscape  as  the  sentinel  cactus. 

Jane  Ames,  in  a  blue  gingham  dress,  was  standing 
in  the  door.  She  waved  both  hands  as  she  recognized 
Pen.  When  the  machine  stopped  she  took  Pen's  bag. 

"Of  course  I  knew  it  was  Bill's  machine  half  an 
hour  ago,  but  I  didn't  know  my  luck  had  changed 
enough  to  bring  you." 

"I  can  stay  over  night,"  said  Pen,  like  a  child  out  of 
school. 

"Come  straight  into  the  parlor  bedroom,"  said  Jane. 
"Bill,  you'll  find  Oscar  in  the  lower  corral." 

Pen  followed  into  the  house.  Jane  led  her  through 
a  vista  of  rooms  into  the  parlor,  which  was  furnished 
with  a  complete  "near"  mahogany  set  in  green  velvet. 
The  parlor  bedroom  was  furnished  to  match.  Jane 
always  showed  the  people  whose  opinion  she  valued 
her  parlor  first  that  the  edge  might  be  taken  off  the 
living  room.  After  Pen  had  taken  off  her  hat,  she 
followed  her  hostess  kitchenward. 

The  living  room  was  big  and  square,  the  original 
house.  It  contained  a  wide  adobe  fireplace  and  its 


184  STILL   JIM 

windows  opened  toward  the  orange  grove.  It  was 
furnished  with  tables  and  chairs  that  Mrs.  Ames  had 
bought  from  an  old  mission  in  the  neighborhood. 
They  were  hand-hewn  and  black  with  age.  The 
Navajo  floor  rugs  were  soft  and  well  worn.  Jane 
apologized  for  the  room,  saying  she  left  it  old  and 
ugly  for  the  hired  men  and  the  children,  then  she 
established  Pen  in  a  rocking  chair  in  the  kitchen. 

The  kitchen  was  a  model  of  convenience,  boasting 
running  water  as  well  as  a  kitchen  cabinet  and  a  gaso 
line  range. 

"It  took  me  just  five  years  to  raise  enough  chickens 
and  eggs  to  buy  the  cabinet  and  the  range,"  said  Jane, 
taking  a  peep  at  the  bread  in  the  oven.  "I  begged  and 
begged  Oscar  to  get  me  things  to  work  with  every 
time  he  sent  to  the  mail-order  house  to  get  farm  ma 
chinery.  But  he'd  just  grunt.  Finally  I  got  mad. 
He  had  running  water  put  in  the  barn  and  wouldn't 
send  it  on  up  to  the  house.  He  went  to  San  Fran 
cisco  that  fall  and  I  had  men  out  here  and  put  water 
in  the  kitchen.  When  he  got  back  the  bill  was  waiting 
for  him  and  he  was  ashamed  to  complain.  It  isn't 
that  men  are  so  bad.  It's  just  because  they  haven't 
any  idea  what  real  work  housework  is.  How  is  your 
husband?" 

"About  as  usual,"  replied  Pen. 

Jane  Ames  looked  out  the  door,  then  back  at  Pen. 
'Are  you  ever  sorry  you  got  married?" 

Pen  looked  a  little  startled,  but  after  a  moment  she 
n;iswered,  "I  used  to  be." 

"You  mean  you  aren't  now?"  asked  Jane. 

"T  mean  I'm  glad  I've  got  the  things  marriage  has 
brought  me." 


HEART   OF  A   DESERT   WIFE     185 

Jane's  eyes  lighted.  She  sat  down  opposite  Pen. 
"I'm  just  starved  for  a  talk  with  some  woman  who 
isn't  afraid  to  say  what  she  really  thinks  about  this 
marriage  business.  What  have  you  got  out  of  being 
married  to  a  cripple?" 

Pen  chuckled.  "Well,  I'm  really  a  first-class  nurse, 
and  like  Bismarck,  I  can  keep  my  mouth  shut  in  seven 
different  languages." 

"Isn't  that  so!"  exclaimed  Jane.  "Oscar  insists  on 
doing  all  the  talking  for  us  and  I  let  him.  Some  day 
if  I  ever  find  anything  worth  saying,  though,  I'll  sur 
prise  him.  I'm  in  the  'What's  the  use?'  stage  right 
now.  Men  are  awful  hard  to  live  with." 

"Almost  as  hard  as  women !"  said  Pen.  "We're  all 
so  silly  about  it.  We  expect  marriage  to  bring  us 
happiness  with  no  effort  on  our  own  parts,  just  as  if 
the  only  aim  of  getting  married  were  to  be  happy." 

"Mercy  sakes!"  exclaimed  Jane.  She  sat  fonvard 
on  the  edge  of  the  chair.  "Go  on!  Don't  stop.  I 
knew  the  minute  I  saw  you  that  talking  to  you  would 
beat  writing  to  the  advice  column  of  a  woman's  maga 
zine.  What  is  it  we  marry  for,  anyhow?" 

Pen  laughed.  "Well,  when  we  don't  marry  to  be 
happy,  we  marry  out  of  curiosity.  It's  funny  when 
you  think  of  it.  Two  people  with  nothing  in  com 
mon  have  a  period  of  insanity  during  which  they  tie 
themselves  together  in  a  hard  knot  which  they  can't 
undo  and  then  they  must  feed  on  each  other  for  the 
rest  of  their  lives." 

Jane  gasped  a  little.  "You — you  aren't  bitter,  are 
you,  Mrs.  Penelope?  I  can't  say  your  other  name 
easy.  You  believe  there  are  some  happy  marriages, 
don't  you?" 


186  STILL   JIM 

Pen  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "No,  I'm  not  bitter. 
I've  just  lost  my  illusions.  I  don't  happen  to  know  of 
any  marriages  so  happy  that  they  would  tempt  me  to 
marry  again." 

"I  feel  kind  of  wicked  talking  this  way,"  said  Jane. 
"But,"  recklessly,  "you've  seen  the  world  and  I  haven't. 
And  it's  my  chance  to  learn  real  life.  You  don't  mean 
people  ought  not  to  marry,  do  you?"  This  in  a  half- 
whisper  of  utter  demoralization. 

"Oh,  no !  Marriage  is  the  best  means  we've  found 
for  perpetuating  and  improving  the  race.  It's  a  duty 
we  owe  society,  to  marry.  I  don't  believe  much  in 
divorce  either.  Except  for  unfaithfulness.  Unless 
the  average  lot  of  us  are  true  to  the  marriage  ideal 
the  whole  institution  will  be  tainted.  I  guess  the 
safety  of  society  lies  in  each  of  us  looking  at  ourselves 
as  average  and  not  exceptional  persons.  Then  we 
stick  to  the  conventions.  And  the  conventions  weren't 
foisted  on  society  from  above.  They  were  sweated 
out  from  beneath  to  satisfy;  make  it  possible  for  us 
to  endure  each  other." 

Jane  Ames  threw  up  both  her  hands.  "O  my !  You 
have  been  hurt  or  you'd  never  be  so  cold-blooded !  I 
can't  look  at  it  as  calmly  as  you  do  as  if  it  all  be 
longed  to  someone  else.  You  never  bore  children 
to  a  man.  You  can't  realize  what  selfishness  and  un- 
kindness  from  the  father  of  your  children  can  mean. 
Do  you  know  that  I've  borne  two  babies  in  this  room — 
alone — not  even  a  squaw  to  help  me?  And  I've 
watched  the  desert  through  the  door  and  I've  cursed 
it  for  what  it's  made  of  my  marriage !"  Jane  gave  a 
short  laugh  and  held  up  her  knotted,  rough  hands. 


HEART   OF  A   DESERT   WIFE     187 

"I  had  dimples  on  my  knuckles  when  I  came  to  this 
country.'* 

Pen  looked  out  the  door  and  tried  to  picture  to  her 
self  this  other  woman's  life. 

"I — I  guess  my  safety  has  lain  in  my  getting  an 
impersonal  view  of  things,"  she  said  apologetically. 

"There,  the  bread  is  burning!"  exclaimed  Jane. 

Pen  laughed  reminiscently.  "There's  a  verse  that 
says: 

"'Ice  cream  is  very  strange;   so's  a  codfish  ball, 
But  the  people  people  marry  is  the  strangest  thing  of  all !' " 

"I  guess  you  need  me,"  said  Jane,  "as  much  as  I 
need  you.  There  comes  Oscar  and  I  haven't  set  the 
table." 

Oscar  was  coming  up  the  dooryard.  He  stepped 
a  little  high,  in  the  gait  of  one  accustomed  to  walking 
in  shifting  sands.  He  was  big  and  upstanding,  with  a 
look  of  honesty  that  Pen  liked. 

No  one  who  has  not  known  a  desert  farmer  can 
realize  what  his  acres  meant  to  Oscar  Ames.  The 
farmer  of  northern  lands  loves  his  acres.  But  he  did 
not  create  them — he  did  not  fight  nature  for  them, 
until  he  had  made  himself  over  along  with  his  land. 

Nature  fights  inch  by  inch  every  effort  of  man  to 
harness  the  desert  to  his  uses.  She  scorches  the  soil 
with  heat.  She  poisons  it  with  alkali.  She  infests  it 
with  deadly  vermin  and — last  and  supreme  touch  of 
cruelty — she  forbids  the  soil  water  unless  she  sur 
rounds  the  getting  of  it  with  infinite  travail  and  dan 
ger. 

Heat  and  sandstorm,  failure  and  famine,  toil  unut- 


i88  STILL   JIM 

terable,  these  had  been  Oscar  Ames'  portion.  When 
at  last  he  had  won  his  acres,  had  brought  the  barren 
sand  to  bearing,  had  made  three  hundred  acres  of 
desert  a  thing  of  breathing  beauty  from  January  to 
January,  the  ranch  meant  something  to  him  that  a 
northern  farmer  could  not  understand.  And  these 
three  hundred  acres  were  Oscar's  world.  He  could 
not  see  beyond  them.  The  dam  was  a  mere  adjunct  to 
the  Ames  ranch.  He  would  leave  no  stone  unturned 
to  see  that  it  served  his  own  ranch's  needs  as  he  saw 
them.  If  Sara  saw  this  quality  in  Oscar  and  had  any 
motive  for  playing  on  it,  he  could  do  infinite  harm 
to  Jim. 

It  was  something  of  all  this  that  Pen  was  thinking 
as  Oscar  crossed  the  yard.  He  came  into  the  kitchen 
in  a  leisurely  way  and  greeted  Pen  with  the  cordiality 
that  belongs  to  the  desert  country.  Penelope  helped 
Jane  to  put  the  dinner  on  the  table  and  the  three  sat 
down  to  eat. 

The  two  were  eager  to  hear  details  of  Iron 
Skull's  death,  and  after  Pen  had  described  it  to  them, 
Oscar  began  to  talk  about  Sara. 

"How  long's  your  husband  been  bedridden?"  he 
asked. 

"Oscar !"  exclaimed  Jane. 

"Jane,  you  keep  quiet.  What's  the  use  of  being 
secret  about  it?  I  guess  both  him  and  her  know  he's 
bedridden." 

Pen  told  them  the  story  of  the  accident. 

"Isn't  that  fierce!"  exclaimed  Oscar.  "He's  the 
smartest  young  fellow  I've  met  in  years.  I  wish  even 
now  he  was  running  the  dam  instead  of  Manning." 

"Why?"  asked  Penelope. 


HEART   OF  A   DESERT   WIFE     189 

"He'd  build  it  for  the  farmer  and  have  some  busi 
ness  sense  about  it." 

"You  don't  understand  Mr.  Manning,"  said  Pen. 
"I  wish  you'd  try  to  get  to  know  him  better." 

Oscar  grunted.  "Does  the  doctors  think  your  hus 
band  will  get  well?"  he  asked,  finishing  off  his  pie. 

"Oscar!"  cried  Jane. 

"Jane,  you  keep  quiet.  These  are  business  ques 
tions.  If  Sardox  and  I  are  going  to  run  this  dam, 
we  got  to  understand  each  other's  limitations.  I  can't 
ask  him  if  he's  going  to  die." 

"We  just  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  said  Pen, 
gently.  "Mr.  Ames,  I'm  curious  to  know  just  how 
you  and  Sara  are  going  to  run  the  dam." 

Oscar  closed  his  mouth  importantly  to  open  it  again 
and  say,  "I  never  talk  business  with  ladies." 

Jane  laughed  suddenly.  "Gracious,  Oscar!  I'm 
not  worrying  but  what  I'll  get  all  the  details.  He's 
the  original  human  sieve,  Mrs.  Penelope." 

Oscar  joined  in  Pen's  laugh  and  started  for  the  door, 
shaking  his  head  and  picking  his  teeth.  Pen  looked 
after  him  uneasily. 

That  afternoon  Pen  and  Jane  went  with  Bill  and 
Oscar  for  an  automobile  ride  over  the  desert.  The 
two  women  sat  in  the  tonneau,  Oscar  in  front  with 
Bill.  The  desert  road  was  rough,  full  of  bowlders 
and  ruts.  But  neither  Oscar  nor  Bill  was  hampered 
by  roads.  Whenever  some  distant  spot  roused  their 
curiosity,  the  machine  left  the  road  and  plunged  madly 
across  the  desert,  through  cactus  thickets  and  yucca 
clumps,  through  draws  and  oversand  drifts. 

Oscar  and  Bill  kept  up  a  shouted  conversation  with 
each  other.  But  Pen  and  Jane  each  clutched  a  side  of 


igo  STILLJIM 

the  machine,  braced  their  feet  and  gave  their  entire  at 
tention  to  keeping  from  being  flung  bodily  from  the 
car.  Forewarned  for  miles,  no  living  creature  crossed 
their  path.  The  din  and  the  dust,  the  hairbreadth 
escapes  made  the  discomfort  of  the  ride  for  the  two 
women  indescribable. 

When  Bill  finally  drew  up  before  the  ranch  house 
door  with  his  usual  flourish  of  staccato  explosions, 
Oscar  alighted  and  watched  Pen  and  his  wife  crawl 
feebly  from  the  tonneau. 

"Caramba!"  he  said.  "That  was  a  fine  ride!  I've 
been  wanting  to  get  a  look  at  that  country  and  a  talk 
with  you,  Bill,  for  a  month.  I  fell  well  rested." 

Pen  and  Jane  looked  at  each  other  and  at  the  two 
men's  grins  of  complaisance.  Then,  without  a  word, 
the  two  women  sank  against  each  other  on  the  door 
step  and  laughed  until  the  men,  bewildered  and  exas 
perated,  took  themselves  off  to  the  barn.  Finally  Jane 
rose  and  wiped  her  eyes. 

"There's  not  an  inch  on  my  body  that  isn't  black  and 
blue,"  she  said  weakly. 

Pen  pulled  herself  up  by  clinging  to  the  door  knob. 
"That  was  a  real  'pleasure  exertion,'  "  she  whispered 
feebly.  "But  I'd  do  it  twice  over  for  a  laugh  like  this. 
I  haven't  laughed  so  for  eight  years." 

Jane  gave  Pen  a  kitchen  apron  and  tied  one  on  her 
self  while  she  nodded.  "Thank  heaven!  I  always 
could  laugh.  It's  saved  my  reason  many  a  time.  I 
don't  want  you  to  do  a  thing  about  getting  supper,  but 
you'll  be  sitting  round  in  the  kitchen  and  that'll  keep 
your  skirt  clean." 

Pen  picked  up  a  pan  of  cold  boiled  potatoes  and 
began  to  peel  them  with  more  good  will  than  skill. 


HEART   OF   A   DESERT   WIFE     191 

"I  do  like  you,  Jane  Ames,"  she  said.  "Two  people 
couldn't  laugh  together  like  that  and  not  have  been 
meant  to  understand  each  other." 

Jane  set  the  tea  kettle  firmly  on  the  stove.  "We'll 
see  each  other  a  lot  if  we  have  to  walk.  Peel  them 
thin,  dear  child.  I'm  a  little  low  on  potatoes." 

"I'm  not  very  expert,"  apologized  Pen.  "Sara  is 
putting  up  with  a  good  deal  just  now,  for  I'm  learning 
how  to  cook." 

"I  guess  he  don't  suffer  in  silence!"  sniffed  Jane. 

The  next  morning,  when  Penelope  climbed  regret 
fully  onto  the  front  seat  of  the  automobile,  Oscar 
came  hurriedly  from  the  corral  with  a  dark-mustached 
young  man  in  a  business  suit. 

"This  is  Mr.  Fleckenstein,  Mrs.  Sardox,"  he  said. 
"He's  a  lawyer  and  him  and  I  are  going  up  to  the 
dam  with  you.  He  just  stopped  here  on  his  way. 
I'm  leaving  his  horse  in  the  corral,  Jane." 

Jane  and  Penelope  exchanged  puzzled  looks.  "Your 
hair  needs  fixing,  Mrs.  Penelope,"  said  Jane.  "Come 
in  the  house  for  a  minute." 

Pen  clambered  down  obediently  and  Jane  led  her 
far  into  the  parlor  bedroom.  "Your  hair  was  all 
right,"  she  whispered,  "but  I  want  to  warn  you. 
Oscar  is  just  a  great  big  innocent.  He  is  crazy  over 
anyone  he  thinks  is  smart.  That  Fleckenstein  is  a 
shyster  lawyer.  I  wouldn't  trust  a  hot  stove  in  his 
hands.  You  see  that  your  husband  don't  get  thick 
with  him.  Do  you  trust  your  husband  in  business?" 

Pen  winced  but  she  looked  into  Jane's  blue  eyes  and 
answered,  "No." 

"Do  you  like  Mr.  Manning  and  want  him  to  suc 
ceed?" 


192  STILL    JIM 

"Yes,"  replied  Pen. 

"Well  then,  it's  time  I  took  notice  of  things  on  this 
project  and  you  can  help  me  by  watching  things  up 
there.  I  won't  take  time  to  say  any  more  right  now. 
Oscar  will  be  storming  in  here  in  a  minute." 

When  they  reached  the  dam  that  afternoon,  Oscar 
and  Fleckenstein  called  on  Sara.  Pen  found  that  they 
would  talk  nothing  but  land  values  while  she  was  in 
the  tent,  so  she  wandered  out  in  search  of  Jim. 

She  found  him  at  the  dam  site.  He  was  talking  to 
a  heavy-set,  red- faced  man  in  khaki.  He  was  con 
siderably  older  than  Jim,  who  introduced  the  stranger 
as  Mr.  Jack  Henderson. 

"Henderson  will  take  Iron  Skull's  place,"  explained 
Jim.  "You  must  remember  how  I  wrote  home  of  him 
and  how  he  helped  me  save  my  reputation  as  a  road- 
builder  on  the  Makon.  He's  been  down  on  the  diver 
sion  dam." 

Penelope  held  out  her  hand.  "I  shall  never  cease 
regretting  that  I  didn't  get  to  see  the  Makon,"  she 
said. 

Henderson's  gray  eyes  lost  their  keenness  for  a 
moment.  "It  was  hard  for  me  to  come  up  knowing 
I  was  to  take  Iron  Skull's  job."  Pen  listened  in  sur 
prise  to  his  low,  gentle  voice.  "You  know,  Boss  Still 
Jim,  if  he'd  had  a  better  chance  for  a  education  he'd 
have  made  his  mark.  He  was  just  naturally  big.  He 
could  see  all  over  and  around  a  thing  and  what  it  had 
to  do  with  things  a  hundred  years  back  and  a  hun 
dred  years  on.  That's  what  I  call  being  big.  A  good 
many  fellows  that  lives  a  long  time  in  the  desert  gets 
a  little  of  that,  but  Iron  Skull  had  it  more  than  anyone 
I  know.  I  wish  he'd  had  a  better  chance.  I  can  fill 


HEART   OF  A   DESERT   WIFE     193 

his  job,  Boss,  as  far  as  the  day's  work  goes,  but  I  can't 
give  you  the  big  look  of  things  he  could." 

Henderson  was  standing  with  his  hat  off,  and  now 
he  rumpled  his  gray  hair  and  shook  his  head.  Pen 
liked  him  at  once. 

Jim  nodded.  "I  miss  him.  I  always  shall  miss 
him.  I  often  thought  that  if  my  father  had  come  out 
to  this  country,  he'd  have  grown  to  be  like  Iron  Skull. 
And  they  are  both  gone." 

"That's  the  way  life  acts,"  said  Henderson.  "It's 
always  the  man  that  ought  to  stay  that  goes.  And 
there's  never  any  explanation  of  how  you're  going  to 
fill  the  gap.  He's  jerked  out  of  your  life  and  you 
will  go  lame  the  rest  of  your  life  for  all  you  know. 
These  here  story  books  that  try  to  show  death  has 
got  a  lot  of  logic  about  it  are  liars.  There  ain't  any 
reason  or  sense  about  death.  It  just  goes  around,  hit 
or  miss,  like  a  lizard  snapping  flies." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  during  which  the 
three  stared  at  the  Elephant.  Then  Jack  cleared  his 
throat  and  said  casually,  in  his  gentle  voice: 

"You're  going  to  have  a  devil  of  a  job  enforcing 
your  liquor  ruling,  Boss.  It'll  make  trouble  with  the 
whites  and  more  with  the  hombres" 

Jim's  steel  jaw  set.  "There's  not  to  be  a  drop 
of  liquor  on  this  dam  except  in  the  hospital.  I  expect 
you  to  back  me  in  this,  Jack.  You  know  what  trouble 
I  had  on  the  Makon  because  I  never  came  down  hard." 

"Sure,  I'll  back  you,"  said  Henderson  gently.  "But 
I  just  wanted  you  to  realize  that  it's  going  to  be  hell 
round  a  half  mile  track  to  enforce  it.  You  never  saw 
me  backward  about  getting  into  a  fight,  did  you?" 

Jim  smiled  reminiscently  and  then  said,  "I'm  going 


194  STILL   JIM 

to  start  an  ice  cream  and  soft  drink  joint  next  to  the 
moving  picture  show." 

Here  Pen  laughed.  "I  asked  one  of  the  oilers  in 
the  cable  tower  the  other  day  if  he  liked  to  work  for 
the  government.  He  grunted.  I  asked  him  if  Uncle 
Sam  didn't  take  good  care  of  him  and  he  said :  'Yes, 
and  so  does  a  penitentiary!  What  does  men  like  the 
Big  Boss  know  about  what  we  want?  Why  don't  he 
ask  me?'" 

Jim  nodded.  "That's  typical.  One  of  the  hoboes  I 
brought  in  half-starved  the  other  day  came  to  my 
office  this  morning  and  told  me  how  to  feed  the  camp. 
He  doesn't  like  our  menu.  As  near  as  I  can  make  out 
this  was  his  first  experience  at  three  meals  a  day  and 
he  never  saw  a  bathtub  before.  There  isn't  a  rough 
neck  in  the  camp  that  isn't  convinced  he  could  build 
that  dam  better  than  I.  Eh,  Jack?" 

"Sure,  all  except  the  old  Makon  bunch." 

"Well,  we're  up  against  the  same  old  problem  here, 
Henderson.  We've  got  to  have  better  cooperation  and 
yet  enough  rivalry  to  keep  every  man  on  the  job  work 
ing  his  limit.  The  foremen  don't  pull  together." 

"In  that  case,"  said  Henderson  tenderly,  "I'll  be 
gin  by  going  over  and  kick  the  head  off  the  team  boss." 

He  smiled  at  Pen  and  started  up  the  trail.  Pen 
watched  the  workmen  who  were  cleaning  up  the  top 
of  the  concrete  section. 

"Did  you  have  a  good  time  with  Mrs.  Ames?"  asked 
Jim. 

"Still,  she's  a  dear!  And  Oscar  isn't  so  bad  when 
you  know  him.  Do  you  know,  Jim,  he  actually  be 
lieves  that  you  are  not  building  the  dam  for  the  farm- 


HEART   OF  A   DESERT   WIFE     195 

ers!  Can't  you  do  something  to  make  him  under 
stand  you?" 

"Look  here,  Pen,"  replied  Jim,  "I'm  building  this 
dam  for  this  valley,  for  all  time,  not  for  Oscar  Ames 
or  Bill  Evans,  nor  for  any  one  man.  I'm  doing  my 
share  in  building.  I'm  not  hired  to  educate  these 
idiots." 

Pen  eyed  Jim  intently,  trying  to  get  his  viewpoint 
and  turning  old  Iron  Skull's  words  over  in  her  mind. 
Jim  was  standing  with  his  hat  under  his  arm  and  his 
brown  hair  blowing  across  his  forehead. 

"Pen,"  he  said  suddenly,  "you  are  the  most  beau 
tiful  woman  in  the  world." 

Pen  blushed  clean  to  her  eyebrows.  Jim  went  on 
eagerly:  "Penelope,  I  want  to  tell  you  how  I  feel 
about  you.  Will  you  let  me?" 

Pen  looked  at  the  Elephant  helplessly.  But  the  great 
beast  lay  mute  and  inscrutable  in  the  sun.  There  was 
a  look  in  Jim's  eyes  that  Pen  would  have  found  hard 
to  control  had  not  Jim's  secretary  chosen  that  moment 
to  interrupt  them. 

"Mr.  Manning,"  he  said,  "a  letter  has  just  come  in 
for  you  from  the  Secretary  of  the  Interior.  You  told 
me  to  notify  you  when  it  came." 


CHAPTER    XVI 
THE  ELEPHANT'S  LOVE  STORY 

"Coyotes    hunt    weaker    things.      Humans    hunt    all 
things,  even  each  other,  which  the  coyote  will  not  do." 
MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

DON'T  let  me  keep  you  here,   Jim,"   exclaimed 
Pen  so  hastily  that  Jim  could  not  help  smiling. 
She  scuttled  hastily  up  the  trail  ahead  of  him,  her 
heavy  little  hunting  boots  doing  wonders  on  the  rough 
path. 

The  Secretary's  letter  disturbed  Jim  very  much.  It 
was  not  the  result  he  had  expected  from  the  Hearing 
at  all.  Nor  was  the  letter  itself  easy  for  Jim  to  under 
stand. 

"Mv  DEAR  MR.  MANNING: 

"There  are  several  facts  connected  with  your  work  that  I 
would  like  to  call  to  your  attention.  The  Reclamation  Service 
is  an  experiment,  a  magnificent  one.  It  is  not  a  test  of  engineer 
ing  efficiency,  except  indirectly.  Engineers  as  a  class  are  effi 
cient.  It  is  an  experiment  to  discover  whether  or  not  the 
American  people  is  capable  of  understanding  and  handling  such 
an  idea  as  the  Service  idea.  It  is  a  problem  of  human  adjust 
ment.  Is  an  engineer  capable  of  handling  so  gigantic  a  human 
as  well  as  technical  problem?  I  shall  be  interested  in  getting 
your  ideas  along  this  line. 

" Secretary  of  the  Interior." 

196 


ELEPHANT'S    LOVE    STORY     197 

Jim  laid  the  letter  down.  He  recalled  the  Secre 
tary's  fine,  inscrutable  face  and  that  something  back 
of  its  mask  that  he  had  liked  and  understood.  He 
felt  sure  that  the  letter  had  been  impelled  by  that  far- 
seeing  quality  that  he  knew  belonged  to  the  Secretary 
but  for  which  he  had  no  lucid  word.  And  yet  the  let 
ter  roused  in  Jim  the  old  sense  of  resentment.  What 
did  the  Secretary  want  him  to  do;  turn  peanut  poli 
tician  and  fight  the  water  power  trust?  Did  no  one 
realize  that  the  erecting  of  the  dam  was  heavy  enough 
responsibility  for  any  one  man  ? 

His  first  impulse  was  to  take  the  letter  over  to  Pen. 
Then  he  smiled  wryly.  He  must  not  take  all  his  trou 
bles  to  her  or  she  would  get  no  relief  from  the  bur 
dening  that  Sara  put  upon  her.  So  he  brooded  over 
the  letter  until  supper  time  when  he  went  with  Hen 
derson  down  to  the  lower  mess.  Jim  ate  with  the 
lower  mess  frequently.  It  was  almost  the  only  way 
he  had  now  of  keeping  in  touch  personally  with  his 
workmen. 

After  supper  and  a  pipe  in  the  steward's  room  Jim 
climbed  the  long  road  to  the  dam.  The  road  hung 
high  above  the  dam  site.  The  mountains  and  the  bulk 
of  the  Elephant  were  black  in  the  shadowy  regions 
beyond  the  arc  lights.  Black  and  purple  and  silver 
below  lay  the  mighty  section  of  concrete,  with  black 
specks  of  workmen  moving  back  and  forth  on  it, 
pygmies  aiding  in  the  birth  of  a  Colossus.  The  night 
sky  was  dim  and  remote  here.  Despite  the  roar  of 
the  cableways,  the  whistles  of  foremen,  the  rushing 
to  and  fro  of  workmen,  the  flicker  of  electric  lights, 
one  could  not  lose  the  sense  of  the  project's  isolation. 
One  knew  that  the  desert  was  pressing  in  on  every 


198  STILL    JIM 

side.  One  knew  that  old  Jezebel,  having  crossed  end 
less  wastes,  having  fed  on  loneliness,  whispered  threats 
of  trouble  to  the  narrow  flume  that  for  a  moment 
throttled  her.  One  knew  that  the  Elephant  never  for 
a  moment  lost  his  sardonic  sense  of  the  impermanence 
of  human  effort. 

When  Jim  reached  his  house,  he  found  old  Suma- 
theek  camped  on  the  doorstep. 

"What  is  it,  Suma-theek?"  aske,d  Jim. 

"Old  Suma-theek,  he  want  make  talk  with  you,"  re 
plied  the  Indian. 

Jim  nodded.  "I'd  like  to  talk  with  you,  Suma-theek. 
Wait  till  I  get  enough  tobacco  for  us  both  and  we'll 
go  up  on  the  Elephant's  back,  eh?" 

Suma-theek  grunted.  The  two  reached  the  Ele 
phant's  top  without  conversation  and  sat  for  per 
haps  half  an  hour,  smoking  and  mute.  This  was  quite 
an  ordinary  procedure  with  them. 

Finally  Suma-theek  said,  "Why  you  make  'em  this 
dam?" 

"So  that  corn  and  cattle  and  horses  will  increase  in 
the  valley,"  replied  Jim. 

The  Indian  grunted.  "Much  talk !  Why  you  make 
'em?" 

"It's  my  job;  the  kind  of  work  I  like." 

"What  use?"  insisted  Suma-theek.  "People  down 
in  valley  they  much  swear  at  you.  Big  Sheriff  at 
Washington,  he  much  swear  at  you.  You  much  lonely. 
Much  sad.  Why  you  stay?  What  use?  Much  old 
Suma-theek  wonder  at  that.  Why  old  Iron  Skull 
work  on  this  dam?  Why  you,  so  young,  so  strong, 
no  have  wife,  no  have  child,  marry  dam  instead?  You 
tell  old  Suma-theek  why." 


ELEPHANT'S    LOVE    STORY     199 

Jim  had  learned  on  the  Makon  that  while  war  and 
hunting  might  have  been  an  Indian's  business  in  life, 
his  avocation  was  philosophizing.  He  had  learned 
that  many  a  pauperized  and  decrepit  old  Indian,  warm 
ing  his  back  in  the  sun,  despised  of  the  whites,  held 
locked  in  his  marvelous  mind  treasures  of  philosophy, 
of  comment  on  life  and  living,  Indian  and  white,  that 
the  world  can  ill  afford  to  lose,  yet  never  will  know. 

Jim  struggled  for  words.  "Back  east,  five  sleeps, 
where  I  was  born,  there  are  many  people  of  many 
tribes.  They  fight  for  enough  food  to  eat,  for  enough 
clothes  to  wear.  When  I  was  a  boy  I  said  to  myself 
I  would  come  out  here,  make  place  for  those  people 
to  come." 

"But,"  said  Suma-theek,  "the  dam  it  will  no  keep 
whites  from  fighting.  They  fight  now  in  valley  to  see 
who  can  get  most  land.  What  use?" 

"What  use,"  returned  Jim,  "that  you  bring  your 
young  men  up  here  and  make  them  work?  I  know 
the  answer.  You  are  their  chief.  It  is  your  business 
to  do  what  you  can  to  keep  their  stomachs  full  and 
their  backs  warm.  You  don't  ask  why  or  the  end." 

The  Indian  rolled  another  cigarette.  He  was  like  a 
fine  dim  cameo  in  the  starlight  "I  sabez!"  he  said 
at  last.  "Blood  of  man,  it  no  belong  to  self  but  to 
tribe.  So  with  Injuns.  So  with  some  whites.  Not 
so  with  hombrcs." 

Again  the  eagle,  disturbed  by  voices,  dipped  across 
the  canyon.  "See,  Sumartheek,  make  the  story  for 
me,"  said  Jim.  "There  are  the  eagle  and  the  flag  so 
young  and  the  Elephant  so  old.  Make  the  story  for 
me." 

There  was  a  long  silence  once  more.     The  desert 


200  STILLJIM 

wind  sighed  over  the  two  men.  The  noise  of  building 
came  up  faintly  from  below  but  the  radiance  of  the 
stars  was  here  undimmed. 

Finally  Suma-theek  spoke: 

"Long,  long,  many,  many  years  ago,  before  whites 
were  born,  Injuns  lived  far  away  to  the  west,  maybe 
across  the  great  water.  All  Injuns  then  had  one  chief. 
He  very  great,  very  wise,  very  strong.  But  he  no 
have  son.  He  heap  wise.  He  know,  man  no  stronger 
than  number  of  his  sons.  He  get  old.  No  have  son. 
Then  he  call  all  young  men  of  tribe  to  him,  and  say: 
'That  young  man  shall  be  my  son  who  shows  me  in 
one  year  the  strongest  thing  in  world,  stronger  than 
sun,  stronger  than  wind,  stronger  than  desert,  than 
mountains,  than  rivers  at  flood.' 

"All  young  men,  they  start  out  to  hunt.  All  time 
they  bring  back  to  old  chief  strong  medicine,  like 
rattlesnake  poison,  like  ropes  of  yucca  fiber,  like  fifty 
coyotes  fastened  together.  But  that  old  chief  he  laugh 
and  shake  his  head. 

"One  day  young  buck  named  Theeka,  he  start  off 
with  bow  and  arrow.  He  say  he  won't  come  back 
until  he  sure.  Theeka,  he  walk  through  desert  many 
days.  Injuns  no  have  horses  then.  Walk  till  he  get 
where  no  man  go  before.  And  far,  far  away  on 
burning  sand,  he  see  heap  big  animal  move.  It  was 
bigger  than  a  hundred  coyotes  made  into  one.  Theeka 
he  run,  get  pretty  close,  see  this  animal  is  elephant. 

"And  he  say  to  self,  There  is  strongest  thing  in 
world.'  And  he  start  follow  this  elephant.  Many 
days  he  follow,  never  get  closer.  The  more  he  fol 
low,  the  more  he  want  that  elephant.  One  morning 
he  see  other  dot  move  in  desert.  Dot  come  closer.  It 


ELEPHANT'S    LOVE    STORY    201 

woman,  young  woman,  much  beautiful.  She  never 
say  word.  She  just  run  long  by  Theeka. 

"All  time  he  look  from  elephant  to  her.  All  time 
he  feel  he  love  her.  All  time  he  think  he  no  speak 
to  her  for  fear  he  lose  sight  of  elephant.  By'mby, 
beautiful  girl,  she  fall,  no  get  up  again.  Theeka,  he 
run  on  but  his  heart,  it  ache.  By'mby  he  no  can  stand 
it.  He  give  one  look  at  elephant,  say,  'Good-by,  you 
strongest  thing!  I  go  back  to  her  I  love/  Then  his 
spirit,  it  die  within  him,  while  his  heart,  it  sing. 

"He  go  back  to  girl.  She  no  hurt  at  all.  She  put 
her  arms  round  Theeka's  neck  and  kiss  him.  Then 
Theeka  say,  'Let  strongest  thing  go.  I  love  you,  O 
sweet  as  arrow  weed  in  spring !' 

"And  beautiful  girl,  she  say:  *I  show  you  strongest 
thing  in  world.  Come!'  And  she  take  him  by  hand 
and  lead  him  on  toward  elephant.  And  that  elephant, 
all  of  a  sudden,  it  stand  still.  They  come  up  to  it. 
They  see  it  stand  still  because  little  To-hee  bird,  she 
circle  round  his  head,  sing  him  love  songs. 

"'O  yahee!    O  yahai! 

Sweet  as  arrow  weed  in  spring!' 

sing  that  little  bird  to  Elephant.  And  he  slop,  stop 
so  long  here  by  river  while  that  little  bird  build  her 
nest  in  his  side,  he  turn  to  stone  and  live  forever. 

"Then  Theeka,  he  sabez.  He  lead  his  beautiful 
girl  back  to  chief  and  he  say  to  chief :  'I  have  found 
strongest  thing  in  world.  It  is  love/ 

"And  chief,  he  say :  'You  and  your  children's  chil 
dren  shall  be  chiefs.  I  have  not  known  love  and  so 
I  die/  " 


202  STILL    JIM 

Suma-theek's  mellow  voice  merged  into  the  desert 
silence.  "But  the  eagle  and  the  flag?"  asked  Jim. 

"Injuns  no  understand  about  them,"  replied  the  old 
chief.  "You  sabez  the  story  old  Suma-theek  tell  you?" 

"I  understand,"  replied  Jim. 

"Then  I  go  home  to  sleep,"  said  Suma-theek,  and  he 
left  Jim  alone  on  the  Elephant's  back. 

Jim  sat  long  alone  on  the  night  stars.  The  sense  of 
failure  was  heavy  upon  him.  Wherein,  he  asked  him 
self,  had  he  failed  ?  How  could  he  find  himself  ?  Was 
his  life  to  be  like  his  father's  after  all?  Had  he  put 
off  until  too  late  the  mission  he  had  set  himself  so  long 
ago,  that  of  seeking  the  secret  of  his  father's  inade 
quacy?  For  a  few  wild  moments,  Jim  planned  to 
answer  the  Secretary's  letter  with  his  resignation,  to 
give  up  the  thankless  fight  and  return — to  what? 

Jim  could  not  picture  for  himself  any  work  or  life 
but  that  which  he  was  doing;  could  not  by  the  utmost 
effort  of  imagination  separate  himself  from  his  job. 
His  mind  went  back  to  Charlie  Tuck.  He  wondered 
what  Charlie  would  have  said  to  the  Secretary's  let 
ter.  It  seemed  to  Jim  that  Charlie  had  had  more 
imagination  than  he.  Perhaps  Charlie  would  have 
been  able  to  have  helped  him  now.  Then  he  thought 
of  Iron  Skull  and  of  that  last  interrupted  talk  with 
him.  What  had  Iron  Skull  planned  to  say?  What 
had  he  foreseen  that  Jim  had  been  unable  to  see?  It 
seemed  to  Jim  that  he  would  have  given  a  year  of 
his  life  to  know  what  advice  had  been  in  his  old 
friend's  mind. 

A  useless  death !  A  life  too  soon  withdrawn !  Sud 
denly  Jim's  whole  heart  rose  in  longing  for  his  friend 
and  in  loyalty  to  him.  His  death  must  not  be  useless ! 


ELEPHANT'S    LOVE    STORY     203 

The  simple  sweetness  of  the  sacrifice  must  not  go 
unrewarded.  His  life  would  not  be  ended! 

Jim  looked  far  over  the  glistening,  glowing  night 
and  registered  a  vow.  So  help  him  God,  he  would 
not  die  childless  and  forlorn  as  Iron  Skull  had  done. 
Some  day,  some  way,  he  would  marry  Penelope.  And 
somehow  he  would  make  the  dam  a  success,  that  in  it 
Iron  Skull's  last  record  of  achievement  might  live 
forever. 

Strangely  comforted,  Jim  went  home. 

The  Secretary's  letter  remained  unanswered  for  sev 
eral  days.  The  next  morning  Henderson  reported 
that  a  section  of  the  abutments  showed  signs  of  decom 
position.  At  the  first  suggestion  of  a  technical  prob 
lem  with  which  to  wrestle,  Jim  thrust  the  Secretary's 
elusive  one  aside.  He  started  for  the  dam  site  eagerly, 
and  refused  to  think  again  that  day  of  the  shadow 
that  haunted  his  work. 

In  excavating  for  the  abutments  a  thick  stratum  of 
shale  had  been  exposed  that  air-slaked  as  fast  as  it  was 
uncovered.  Jim  gave  orders  that  drifts  be  driven 
through  the  stratum  until  a  safe  distance  from  possi 
ble  exposure  was  reached.  These  were  to  be  filled  with 
concrete  immediately.  It  was  careful  and  important 
work.  The  concrete  of  the  dam  must  have  a  solid 
wall  to  which  to  tie  and  drift  after  drift  must  be  driven 
and  filled  to  supply  this  wall.  Jim  would  trust  no 
one's  judgment  but  his  own  in  this  \vork.  He  stayed 
on  the  dam  all  the  morning,  watching  the  shale  and 
rock  and  directing  the  foremen. 

At  noon  he  went  to  the  lower  mess  where  he  could 
talk  with  the  masonry  workers.  Five  hundred  work 
men  were  polishing  off  their  plates  in  the  great  room. 


204  STILL   JIM 

Jim  chuckled  as  he  sat  down  with  Henderson  at  one 
of  the  long  tables. 

"If  I  could  get  the  hombres  to  work  as  fast  as 
they  eat,"  he  said,  "I  could  take  a  year  off  the  allotted 
time  for  the  dam." 

The  masonry  workers  and  teamsters  at  whose  table 
Jim  was  sitting  grinned. 

"There's  only  one  form  of  persuasion  to  use  with 
an  hombre,"  commented  Henderson,  gently.  "There's 
just  one  kind  of  efficiency  he  gets,  outside  of  whisky." 

"What  kind  is  that?"  asked  a  teamster. 

"The  kind  you  get  with  a  good  hickory  pick-handle 
across  his  skull,"  said  Henderson  in  a  tender,  medita 
tive  way  as  he  took  down  half  a  cup  of  coffee  at  a 
gulp.  "I've  worked  hombres  in  Mexico  and  in  South 
America  and  in  America.  You  must  never  trust  'em. 
Just  when  you  get  where  their  politeness  has  smoothed 
you  down,  look  out  for  a  knife  in  your  back.  I  never 
managed  to  make  friends  for  but  one  bunch  of 
hombres." 

Henderson  reached  for  the  coffee  pot  and  a  fresh 
instalment  of  beef  and  waited  patiently  while  Jim 
talked  with  the  master  mason.  Finally  Jim  said :  "Go 
ahead  with  the  story,  Jack.  I  know  you'll  have  heart 
burn  if  you  don't!" 

"It  was  in  Arizona,"  began  Henderson.  The  sing 
ing  quality  in  his  voice  was  as  tender  as  a  girl's.  "I 
had  fifty  hombres  building  a  bridge  over  a  draw,  get 
ting  ready  for  a  mining  outfit.  No  whites  for  a 
million  miles  except  my  two  cart  drivers,  Ryan  and 
Connors.  The  hombres  and  the  Irish  don't  get  on 
well  together  and  I  was  always  expecting  trouble. 

"One  day  I  was  in  the  tent  door  when  Ryan  ran  up 


ELEPHANT'S    LOVE    STORY    205 

the  trail  and  beckoned  me  with  his  arm.  I  started 
on  the  run.  When  I  got  to  the  draw  I  saw  the  fifty 
hombres  altogether  pounding  something  with  their 
shovels.  I  grabbed  up  a  spade  and  dug  my  way 
through  to  the  middle." 

Henderson's  voice  was  lovingly  reminiscent. 
"There  I  found  Ryan  and  Connors  in  bad  shape.  Con 
nors  had  backed  his  cart  over  an  hombre  and  the 
whole  bunch  had  started  in  to  kill  him.  Ryan  had 
run  for  me  and  then  gone  in  to  help  his  friend.  I 
used  the  spade  freely  and  then  dragged  the  two  Irish 
men  down  to  the  river  and  stuck  their  heads  in.  When 
they  came  to,  they  were  both  for  starting  in  to  kill 
all  the  hombres.  I  argued  with  'em  but  'twas  no  use, 
so  I  had  to  hit  'em  over  the  head  with  a  pick-handle 
and  put  'em  to  sleep.  Then  I  went  back  and  subdued 
the  hombres  to  tears  with  the  same  weapon." 

"Did  you  ever  have  any  more  trouble?"  asked  a 
man. 

"Trouble?"  said  Henderson,  gently.  "They  didn't 
know  but  a  word  or  two  of  English,  but  from  that 
time  on  they  always  called  me  'Papa' !" 

Jim  roared  with  the  rest  and  said  as  he  rose,  "If 
you  think  you've  absorbed  enough  pie  to  ward  off 
famine,  let's  get  back  to  the  dam." 

Henderson  followed  the  Big  Boss  meekly.  They 
started  up  the  road  in  silence,  Jim  leading  his  horse. 
Suddenly  Jack  pulled  off  his  hat  and  ran  his  fingers 
through  his  bush  of  hair. 

"Boss,"  he  said,  "I  chin  a  lot  to  keep  me  cheered  up 
while  I  finish  Iron  Skull's  job.  I  wish  he  could  have 
stayed  to  finish  it.  Of  course  he  helped  on  the  Makon 
but  he  never  had  as  good  a  job  as  he's  got  here.  Ain't 


206  STILL   JIM 

it  hell  when  a  man  goes  without  a  trace  of  anything 
living  behind  him !  A  man  ought  to  have  kids  even  if 
he  don't  have  ideas.  I  often  told  Iron  Skull  that.  But 
he  said  he  couldn't  ask  a  woman  to  live  the  way  he 
had  to.  I  always  told  him  a  woman  would  stand  any 
thing  if  you  loved  her  enough." 

Jim  nodded.  Iron  Skull's  life  in  many  ways  seemed 
a  personal  reproach  to  Jim  for  his  own  way  of  living. 

The  work  at  the  abutments  absorbed  Jim  until  late 
afternoon ;  absorbed  him  and  cheered  him.  About  five 
o'clock  he  started  off  to  call  on  Pen,  and  tell  her  about 
the  Secretary's  letter.  He  found  her  plodding  up  the 
road  toward  the  tent  house  with  a  pile  of  groceries  in 
her  arms. 

"I  missed  the  regular  delivery,"  she  replied  to  his 
protests  as  he  took  the  packages  from  her,  "and  I  love 
to  go  down  to  the  store,  shopping.  It's  like  a  glorified 
cross-roads  emporium.  All  the  hombres  and  their 
wives  and  the  'rough-necks'  and  their  wives  and  the 
Indians.  Why  it's  better  than  a  bazaar!" 

Jim  laughed.  'Ten,  you  are  a  good  mixer.  You 
ought  to  have  my  job.  You'd  make  more  of  it  than 
I  do." 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  Pen.  "Jim,  that  man 
Fleckenstein  is  going  to  run  for  United  States  Senator. 
He's  going  to  promise  the  ranchers  that  he'll  get  the 
government  to  remit  the  building  charges  on  the  dam. 
Will  that  hurt  you?" 

"Where  did  you  hear  this?"  asked  Jim. 

"Fleckenstein  and  Oscar  came  up  this  morning  and 
they  talked  it  over  with  Oscar.  Sara  was  guarded 
in  what  he  said  before  me,  but  I  believe  he's  going  to 


ELEPHANT'S    LOVE    STORY     207 

get  campaign  money  back  East.  Why  should  he, 
Jim?" 

She  eyed  Jim  anxiously.  There  was  hardly  a  mo 
ment  of  the  day  that  the  thought  of  the  responsibility 
that  Iron  Skull  had  placed  on  her  shoulders  was  not 
with  her.  But  she  was  resolved  to  say  nothing  to  Jim 
until  she  had  a  vital  suggestion  to  make  to  him. 

Jim  looked  at  the  shimmering  lavenders  and  grays 
of  the  desert.  It  had  come.  A  frank  step  toward 
repudiation.  A  blow  at  the  fundamental  idea  of  the 
Service.  That  was  to  be  the  next  move  of  the  Big 
Enemy.  And  what  had  Sara  to  do  with  it?  All 
thought  of  the  Secretary's  letter  left  Jim.  He  must  see 
Sara.  But  Penelope  must  not  be  unduly  worried.  He 
turned  to  her  with  his  flashing  smile. 

"Some  sort  of  peanut  politics,  Pen.  Is  Sara  alone 
now?  I'll  go  talk  to  him." 

As  if  in  answer  Sara's  voice  came  from  the  tent 
which  they  were  almost  upon.  "Pen,  come  here!" 

Pen  did  not  quicken  her  pace.  "I  don't  like  to 
change  speeds  going  up  a  steep  grade,"  she  called. 

"You  hustle  when  I  call  you!"  roared  Sara. 

Jim  pulled  the  reins  off  his  arm  and  dropped  them 
to  the  ground  over  the  horse's  head,  the  simple  process 
which  hitches  a  desert  horse.  He  left  Pen  with  long 
strides  and  entered  the  tent. 

"Sara,  if  I  hear  you  talk  to  Pen  that  way  again, 
I  don't  care  if  you  are  forty  times  a  cripple,  I'll  punch 
your  face  in!  What's  the  matter  with  you,  anyhow? 
Did  your  tongue  get  a  twist  with  your  back?" 

"Get  out  of  here!"  shouted  Sara. 

Jim  recovered  his  poise  at  the  sight  of  Pen's  anxious 
eyes.  "Now  Sweetness,"  he  said  to  Sara,  "don't  hurry 


208  STILLJIM 

me!  You  make  me  so  nervous  when  you  speak  that 
way  to  me !  I  think  I'll  get  a  burro  up  here  for  you 
to  talk  to.  He'd  understand  the  richness  of  your 
vocabulary.  Look  here  now,  Sara,  we  all  know  you're 
having  a  darned  hard  time  and  there  isn't  anything 
we  wouldn't  do  for  you.  Don't  you  realize  that  Pen 
is  sacrificing*  her  whole  life  to  being  your  nurse  girl? 
Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  make  it  as  easy  for  her 
as  you  can?" 

"Easy!"  mocked  Sara.  "Easy  for  anyone  that  can 
walk  and  run  and  come  and  go?  What  consideration 
do  they  need?" 

Pen  and  Jim  winced  a  little.  There  was  a  whole 
world  of  tragedy  in  Sara's  mockery.  He  looked  fat 
and  middle-aged.  His  hair  was  graying  fast.  His 
fingers  trembled  a  good  deal  although  the  strength 
in  his  arms  still  was  prodigious.  Yet  Pen  and  Jim 
both  had  a  sense  of  resentment  that  Sara  should  take 
his  life  tragedy  so  ill,  a  feeling  that  he  was  indecor 
ous  in  flaunting  his  bitterness  in  their  faces.  As  if  he 
sensed  their  resentment,  Sara  went  on  sneeringly  : 

"Easy  for  you  two,  with  your  youth  and  good  looks 
and  health  to  patronize  me  and  fancy  how  much  more 
decently  you  could  die  than  I.  I  wish  the  two  of  you 
were  chained  to  my  inert  body.  How  sweet  and  pa 
tient  you  would  be!  Bah!  You  weary  me.  Pen, 
will  you  go  over  to  Mrs.  Flynn's  for  the  root  beer  she 
promised  me?" 

Pen  made  her  escape  gladly.  When  she  was  out  of 
hearing  Jim  said,  "Sara,  why  do  you  want  the  build 
ing  charges  repudiated?" 

"Who  said  I  wanted  them  repudiated?"  asked  Sara. 

"A  tent  is  a  poor  place  to  hold  secrets,"  replied  Jim. 


ELEPHANT'S    LOVE    STORY     209 

"Did  you  come  here  to  do  me  dirt,  Sara?    Did  I  ever 
do  you  any  harm?" 

Sara  turned  purple.  He  raised  himself  on  his  el 
bow.  "Why,"  he  shouted,  "did  you  destroy  my 
chances  with  Pen  by  getting  her  love?  You  wanted 
it  only  to  discard  it  I" 


CHAPTER    XVII 

TOO    LATE    FOR    LOVE 

"Honor  is  the  thing  that  makes  humans  different  from 
dogs — some  dogs !  When  women  have  it,  it  is  mingled 
always  with  tenderness." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

JIM  jumped  to  his  feet  and  took  a  stride  toward 
Sara's  couch,  then  checked  himself. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  accusing  you  of  planning  the  thing!" 
sneered  Sara.  "I'd  have  more  respect  for  you  if  you 
had.  Pen  doesn't  know  that  I  know.  If  I  hadn't 
got  hurt  I'd  probably  never  dreamed  of  it.  Pen  and 
I  would  have  raised  a  family  and  I'd  have  had  no  time 
to  think  of  you.  But  it  didn't  take  more  than  a  year  of 
lying  on  my  back  and  watching  her  to  see  that  it  was 
more  than  my  crippled  condition  that  was  changing 
Pen.  Damn  you!  Why  should  you  have  it  all, 
health  and  success  and  Pen's  love?  I'll  get  you  yet, 
Jim  Manning !" 

Jim  stood  with  his  arms  folded  fighting  desperately 
to  keep  his  hands  off  Sara.  Deep  in  his  heart  Jim 
realized,  there  was  none  of  the  pity  for  Sara's  physi 
cal  condition  that  civilized  man  is  supposed  to  feel  for 
the  cripple.  Far  within  him  was  the  loathing  of  the 
savage  for  something  abnormal ;  the  loathing  that  once 

210 


TOO    LATE    FOR    LOVE        211 

left  the  physically  unfit  to  die.  Yet  superimposed  on 
this  loathing  was  the  veneer  of  civilization,  that  forces 
kindness  and  gentleness  and  self-denial  toward  the  fit 
that  the  unfit  may  be  kept  alive. 

So  Jim  gripped  his  biceps  and  ground  his  teeth  and 
the  crippled  man  in  the  chair  stared  with  bitter  black 
eyes  into  Jim's  angry  gray  ones.  Jim  fought  with  him 
self  until  the  sweat  came  out  on  his  lips,  then  without  a 
word  he  left  the  tent,  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
back  to  the  dam  site. 

He  wanted  time  to  think.  It  was  very  evident  that 
Sara  meant  mischief,  but  just  how  great  was  his  capac 
ity  for  doing  him  harm  Jim  could  only  guess.  The 
idea  of  his  extremely  friendly  relations  with  Arthur 
Freet  bothered  Jim  now.  If  Freet  were  really  trying 
to  influence  the  sale  of  the  water  power  through  Sara, 
the  wise  thing  to  do  would  be  to  send  Sara  back  to 
New  York.  And  yet,  if  Sara  went,  Pen  would  go, 
too!  Jim's  heart  sank.  He  could  not  bear  to  think 
of  the  dam  now  without  Pen.  He  squared  his  shoul 
ders  suddenly.  He  would  not  send  Sara  away  until  he 
had  some  real  proof  that  his  threats  were  more  than 
idle.  At  any  rate,  it  was  not  his  business  to  worry 
over  the  sale  of  the  water  power.  If  he  produced  the 
power  he  was  doing  his  share.  And  when  he  had 
fallen  back  on  his  old  excuse  Jim  gave  a  sigh  of  relief 
and  went  home  to  supper. 

Henderson  was  in  the  office  the  next  morning  when 
Jim  opened  a  letter  from  the  Director  of  the  Service. 
He  was  sorry,  said  the  director,  that  there  had  been 
so  much  loss  of  time  and  property  in  the  flood.  He 
realized,  of  course,  that  Jim  had  done  his  best,  but 
people  who  did  not  know  him  so  well  would  not  have 


212  STILL   JIM 

the  same  confidence.  The  Congressional  Committee 
on  Investigation  of  the  Projects,  on  receipt  of  numer 
ous  complaints  regarding  the  flood,  had  decided  to 
proceed  at  once  to  Jim's  project  and  there  begin  its 
work. 

Jim  tossed  the  Director's  letter  to  Henderson  and 
laid  aside  the  Secretary's  letter,  which  he  had  planned 
to  answer  that  morning. 

"More  time  wasted!"  grumbled  Jim.  "There  will 
be  a  hearing  and  talky-talk  and  I  must  listen  respect 
fully  while  the  abutments  crumble.  Why  in  thunder 
don't  they  send  a  good  engineer  or  two  along  with 
the  Congressmen?  A  report  from  such  a  committee 
would  have  value.  How  would  Congress  enjoy  hav 
ing  a  committee  of  engineers  passing  on  the  legality  of 
the  work  it  does  ?" 

Henderson  laid  the  letter  down,  rumpling  his  hair. 
"Hell's  fire!"  he  said  gently.  "My  past  won't  stand 
investigating.  You  ask  the  Missis  if  it  will!  I'm  safe 
if  they  stick  to  Government  projects  and  stay  away 
from  the  mining  camps  and  the  ladies." 

Jim's  eyes  twinkled.  "Perhaps  your  past  is  black 
enough  to  whiten  mine  in  contrast.  I'll  ask  Mrs.  Hen 
derson." 

Henderson  suddenly  brightened.  "I've  got  a  dying 
favor  to  ask  of  you.  Let  me  take  the  fattest  of  'em  to 
ride  in  Bill  Evans'  auto  ?" 

Jim  looked  serious.  "Your  past  must  have  been 
black,  all  right,  Jack!  You  show  a  naturally  vicious 
disposition.  Really,  I  haven't  anything  personal 
against  these  men.  It's  just  that  they  take  so  much 
time  and  insist  on  treating  us  fellows  as  if  we  were 
pickpockets." 


TOO    LATE    FOR    LOVE        213 

"I  ain't  as  ladylike  as  you,"  said  Henderson,  in  his 
tender  way.  "I  just  naturally  hate  to  be  investigated. 
My  Missis  does  all  that  I  can  stand.  I  won't  do  any 
thing  vicious,  though.  I'll  just  show  a  friendly  inter 
est  in  them.  I  might  lasso  'em  and  hitch  'em  behind 
the  machine,  but  that  might  hurt  it  and,  anyhow,  that 
wouldn't  be  subtle  enough.  These  here  Easterners  like 
delicate  methods.  I  do  myself.  At  least,  I  appreciate 
them.  The  delicatest  attention  I  ever  had  that  might 
come  under  the  head  of  an  investigation  was  by  an 
Eastern  lady.  It  was  years  ago  on  an  old  irrigation 
ditch.  Her  husband  was  starting  a  ranch  and  I 
caught  him  stealing  water.  I  was  pounding  him  up 
when  she  landed  on  me  with  a  steel-pronged  garden 
rake.  She  raked  me  till  I  had  to  borrow  clothes  from 
her  to  go  home  with.  That  sure  was  some  delicate 
investigation." 

"The  world  lost  a  great  lyric  soloist  in  you,  Jack," 
commented  Jim.  "Jokes  aside,  it's  fair  enough  for 
them  to  investigate  us.  If  the  members  of  the  com 
mittee  are  straight,  it  ought  to  do  a  lot  toward  stop 
ping  this  everlasting  kicking  of  the  farmers.  We've 
nothing  to  fear  but  the  delay  they  cause." 

Jack  sighed  regretfully.  "Well,  I'll  be  good,  if  you 
insist.  Let's  give  'em  a  masquerade  ball  while  they're 
here." 

"Good,"  said  Jim.     "Will  you  take  charge?" 

"Bet  your  life!"  replied  Henderson,  whose  enthusi 
asm  for  social  affairs  had  never  flagged  since  the  day 
of  the  reception  to  the  Director,  up  on  the  Makon. 

Jim  spent  a  heavy  morning  on  the  dam,  climbing 
about,  testing  and  calculating.  Already  the  forms 
were  back  in  place  ready  to  restore  the  concrete  swept 


214  STILL    JIM 

away  by  the  flood.  Excavation  for  the  next  section 
of  the  foundation  was  proceeding  rapidly.  At  mid- 
afternoon,  Jim  was  squatting  on  a  rock  overlooking 
the  excavation  when  Oscar  Ames  appeared. 

"Mr.  Manning,"  he  said  angrily,  "that  main  ditch 
isn't  being  run  as  near  my  house  as  I  want  it.  You'd 
better  move  it  now,  before  I  make  you  move  it." 

"Go  to  my  irrigation  engineer,  Mr.  Ames,"  replied 
Jim  shortly.  "He  has  my  full  confidence." 

"Well,  he  hasn't  mine  nor  nobody's  else's  in  the  val 
ley,  with  his  darned  dude  pants!  I  am  one  of  the 
oldest  farmers  in  this  community.  I  had  as  much 
influence  as  anybody  at  getting  the  Service  in  here 
and  I  propose  to  have  my  place  irrigated  the  way  I 
want  it." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Jim,  "you  folks  use  too  much 
water  for  your  own  good,  since  the  diversion  dam  was 
finished.  Why  do  you  use  three  times  what  you  ought 
to  just  because  you  can  get  it  from  the  government 
free?  Don't  you  know  you'll  ruin  your  land  with 
alkali?" 

Ames  looked  at  Jim  in  utter  disgust.  "Did  you  ever 
run  an  irrigated  farm?  Did  you  ever  see  a  ditch  till 
eight  years  ago  ?  Didn't  you  get  your  education  at  a 
darned  East  college  where  they  wouldn't  know  a  ditch 
from  the  Atlantic  Ocean?" 

"Look  here,  Ames,"  said  Jim,  "do  you  know  that 
you  are  the  twelfth  farmer  who  has  been  up  here  and 
told  me  he'd  get  me  dismissed  if  we  didn't  put  the 
ditch  closer  to  his  ranch  ?  I  tell  you  as  I've  told  them 
that  we've  placed  the  canal  where  we  had  to  for  the 
lie  of  the  land  and  where  it  would  do  the  greatest  good 
to  the  greatest  number  when  the  project  was  all  under 


TOO    LATE    FOR    LOVE        215 

cultivation.  Some  of  you  will  have  to  dig  longer  and 
some  shorter  ditches.  I  can't  help  that.  Isn't  that 
reasonable  ?" 

"It  would  be,"  sniffed  Ames,  "if  you  knew  enough 
to  know  where  the  best  place  was.  That's  where  you 
fall  down.  You  won't  take  advice.  Just  because  I 
don't  wear  short  pants  and  leather  shin  guards  is  no 
reason  I'm  a  fool." 

Jim's  drawl  was  very  pronounced.  "The  shin 
guards  would  help  you  when  you  clear  cactus.  And  if 
you'd  adopt  a  leather  headguard,  it  would  protect  you 
in  your  favorite  job  of  butting  in." 

"I'll  get  you  yet!"  exclaimed  Ames,  starting  off 
rapidly  toward  the  trail.  "I've  got  pull  that'll  sur 
prise  you." 

Jim  swore  a  little  under  his  breath  and  began  again 
on  his  interrupted  calculations.  When  the  four  o'clock 
whistle  blew  and  the  shifts  changed,  some  one  sat 
down  silently  near  Jim.  Jim  worked  on  for  a  few 
moments,  finishing  his  problem.  Then  he  looked  up. 
Suma-theek  was  sitting  on  a  rock,  smoking  and  watch 
ing  Jim. 

"Boss,"  he  began,  "you  sabez  that  story  old  Suma- 
theek  tell  you  ?" 

Jim  nodded.  "Why  don't  you  do  it,  then?"  the 
old  Indian  went  on. 

Jim  looked  puzzled.  Suma-theek  jerked  his  thumb 
toward  the  distant  tent  house.  "She  much  beautiful, 
much  lonely,  much  young,  much  good.  Why  you  no 
marry  her?" 

"She  is  married,  Suma-theek,"  replied  Jim  gently. 

"Married?    No!    That  no  man  up  there.     She  no 


216  STILL   JIM 

his  wife.  Let  him  go.  He  bad  in  heart  like  in  body. 
You  marry  her." 

Jim  continued  to  shake  his  head.  "She  belongs  to 
him.  The  law  says  so." 

Suma-theek  snorted.  "Law!  You  whites  make 
no  law  except  to  break  it.  Love  it  have  no  law  except 
to  make  tribe  live.  Great  Spirit,  he  must  think  she 
bad  when  she  might  have  good  babies  for  her  tribe, 
she  stay  with  that  bad  cripple.  Huh?" 

"You  don't  understand,  Suma-theek.  There  is  al 
ways  the  matter  of  honor  for  a  white  man." 

Suma-theek  smoked  his  cigarette  thoughtfully  for  a 
moment  and  then  he  said,  wonderingly:  "A  white 
man's  honor !  He  will  steal  a  nigger  woman  or  an  In 
jun  woman.  He  will  steal  Injun  money  or  Injun 
lands.  He  will  steal  white  man's  money.  He  will 
lie.  He  will  cheat.  Where  he  not  afraid,  white. man 
no  have  honor.  But  when  talk  about  steal  white  man's 
wife,  he  afraid.  Then  he  find  he  have  honor !  Honor ! 
Boss,  white  honor  is  like  rain  on  hot  sand,  like  rotten 
arrow  string,  like  leaking  olla.  I  am  old,  old  Injun. 
I  heap  know  white  honor !" 

Old  Suma-theek  flipped  his  cigarette  into  the  exca 
vation  and  strode  away.  Jim  rose  slowly  and  looked 
over  at  the  Elephant  with  his  gray  eyes  narrowed,  his 
broad  shoulders  set. 

"On  your  head  be  it !"  he  murmured.  "I  am  going 
to  try!" 

He  climbed  the  trail  to  his  house,  washed  and 
brushed  himself  and  went  over  to  the  tent  house.  Pen 
was  sitting  on  the  doorstep.  Oscar  Ames  was  talking 
to  Sara. 

"Hello,  Sara!"  said  Jim  coolly.    "Pen,  I've  got  a 


TOO    LATE    FOR    LOVE        217 

free  hour.  Will  you  come  up  back  of  the  camp  with 
me  and  let  me  show  you  the  view  from  Wind  Ridge  ? 
It's  finer  than  what  you  get  from  the  Elephant." 

Sara's  face  was  inscrutable.  Oscar  said  nothing. 
Pen  laid  aside  her  book  and  picked  up  her  hat. 

"I  knew  there  was  something  the  matter  with  me," 
she  said  gaily.  "It  was  Wind  Ridge  I  was  missing 
though  I  never  heard  of  it  before!  I  won't  be  long, 
Sara." 

"Don't  hurry  on  my  account,"  said  Sara,  with  a  sar 
donic  glance  at  Jim. 

The  trail  led  up  the  mountain  slope  with  a  steady 
twist  toward  a  ridge  at  the  top  that  showed  a  saw 
tooth  edge.  Almost  to  the  top  the  mountain  was  dot 
ted  with  little  green  cedars,  dwarfed  and  wind-tor 
tured.  Up  at  the  saw  edge  they  stopped.  Here  the  wind 
caught  them,  wind  flooding  across  desert  and  moun 
tain,  clean,  sweet,  with  a  marvelous  tang  to  it,  despite 
the  desert  heat. 

"Why,  it's  a  world  of  lavenders!"  cried  Pen. 

Jim  nodded  and  steadied  her  against  the  great  warm 
rush  of  the  wind.  Far  to  the  east  beyond  the  purple 
Elephant  the  San  Juan  mountains  lay  on  the  horizon. 
They  were  the  faintest,  clearest  blue  lavender,  with 
iridescent  peaks  merging  into  the  iridescent  sky. 
The  desert  that  swept  toward  the  Elephant  was  a  yel 
low  lavender.  The  mountain  that  bore  the  ridge  was 
a  gray  lavender.  To  the  west,  three  great  ranges  vied 
with  each  other  in  melting  tints  of  purple,  that  now 
were  blue,  now  were  lavender.  The  two  might  have 
been  sitting  at  the  top  of  the  world,  the  sweep  of  the 
view  and  the  sense  of  exaltation  in  it  were  so  great. 

Mighty  white  clouds  rushed  across  the  sky,  sweeping 


218  STILL   JIM 

their  blue  shadows  over  the  desert,  like  ripples  in  the 
wake  of  huge  sailing  ships. 

When  Pen  had  looked  her  fill,  Jim  led  her  to  a 
clump  of  cedars  that  broke  the  wind  and  made  a  seat 
for  her  from  branches.  Then  he  tossed  his  hat  down 
and  stood  before  her.  Pen  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"Why  so  serious,  Still  Jim?"  she  asked. 

"Penelope,"  asked  Jim,  "do  you  remember  that 
twice  I  held  you  in  my  arms  and  kissed  you  on  the  lips 
and  told  you  that  you  belonged  to  me?" 

Pen  whitened.  If  he  could  only  dream  how  the 
pain  and  sweetness  of  those  embraces  never  had  left 
her! 

"I  remember !  But  let's  not  talk  of  that.  We  settled 
it  all  on  the  day  you  got  back  from  Washington.  We 
must  forget  it  all,  Jim." 

"We  can  never  forget  it,  Pen.  We're  not  that 
kind."  Jim  stood  struggling  for  words  with  which  to 
express  his  emotion.  It  always  had  been  this  way, 
he  told  himself.  The  great  moments  of  his  life  always 
found  him  dumb.  Even  old  Suma-theek  could  tell  his 
thoughts  more  clearly  than  he.  Jim  summoned  all  his 
resources. 

"Pen,  it  never  occurred  to  me  you  wouldn't  wait. 
There  has  never  been  any  other  woman  in  my  life  and 
I  suppose  I  just  couldn't  picture  any  other  man  having 
a  hold  on  you.  But  it  all  goes  in  with  my  general  in 
competence  to  grasp  opportunity.  I  felt  that  I  had  no 
right  to  go  any  farther  until  I  had  more  than  hopes 
to  offer  you.  I  planned  to  make  a  reputation  as  an  en 
gineer.  I  knew  money  didn't  interest  you.  I  wanted 
to  offer  myself  to  you  as  a  man  of  real  achievement. 
You  see  how  I  failed.  I  have  made  a  reputation  as  a 


TOO    LATE    FOR    LOVE       219 

grafting,  inefficient  engineer  with  the  public.  You  are 
another  man's  wife.  But,  Penelope,  I  am  not  going 
to  give  you  up ! 

"One  gets  a  new  view  of  life  out  here.  You  are 
wrong  in  staying  with  Saradokis.  Why  should  three 
lives  be  ruined  by  his  tragedy?  Pen!  Pen!  If  I 
could  make  you  understand  the  torture  of  knowing 
you  are  married  to  Sara!  You  are  mine!  From  the 
first  day  I  came  upon  you  in  the  old  library,  we  be 
longed  to  each  other.  Pen,  I've  tramped  the  desert 
night  after  night  on  the  Makon  and  here,  sweating  it 
out  with  the  stars  and  I  have  determined  that  you  shall 
belong  to  me." 

Pen,  white  and  trembling,  did  not  move  her  gaze 
from  Jim's  face.  All  her  tired,  yearning  youth  stood 
in  her  eyes. 

Jim  spoke  very  slowly  and  clearly.  "Penelope,  I 
love  you.  Will  you  leave  Saradokis  and  marry  me?" 

Pen  did  not  answer  for  a  long  moment.  A  to-hee 
trilled  from  the  cedar : 

"O  yahee!     O  yahai! 
Sweet  as  arrow  weed  in  spring!" 

The  Elephant  lay  motionless.  The  flag  rippled  and 
fluttered,  a  faint  red  spot  far  below  on  the  mountain 
side.  Pen's  youth  was  fighting  with  her  bitterly  won 
philosophy.  Then  she  summoned  all  her  fortitude. 

"Jim,  dear,  it  would  be  a  cowardly  thing  for  me  to 
leave  Sara." 

"It  would  be  greater  cowardice  to  stay.  Pen,  shall 
you  and  I  die  as  Iron  Skull  did  ?  I  can  marry  no  other 
woman  feeling  as  I  do  about  you.  Sara's  life  is  use- 


220  STILL    JIM 

less.  Let  the  world  say  what  it  will.  Marry  me, 
Penelope." 

"Jim,  I  can't." 

"Why  not,  Penelope?" 

"I  love  you  very  dearly,  but  I've  had  enough  of 
marriage.  I've  done  my  duty.  I  don't  see  how  I  could 
keep  on  loving  a  man  after  I  married  him,  even  if  he 
weren't  a  cripple.  The  process  of  adjustment  is  sim 
ply  frightful.  Marriage  is  just  a  contract  binding  one 
to  do  the  impossible !" 

Jim  scowled.  More  and  more  he  was  realizing  how 
Sara  had  hurt  Pen. 

"You  don't  care  a  rap  about  me,  Pen.  Why  don't 
you  admit  it?" 

Pen  gave  a  sudden  tearful  smile.  "You  know  bet 
ter,  Jim.  But  just  to  prove  to  you  what  a  silly  goose 
I  am,  I'll  show  you  something.  Girls  in  real  life  do 
this  even  more  than  they  do  it  in  novels !" 

Pen  opened  a  flat  locket  she  always  wore.  A  folded 
bit  of  paper  and  a  tiny  photograph  fluttered  into  her 
lap.  She  gave  both  to  Jim.  The  picture  was  a  snap 
shot  of  Jim  in  his  football  togs.  The  bit  of  paper, 
unfolded,  showed  in  Pen's  handwriting  a  verse  from 
Christina  Rossetti : 

"Too  late  for  love,  too  late  for  joy; 
Too  late!     Too  late! 
You  loitered  on  the  road  too  long, 
You  trifled  at  the  gate: 
The  enchanted  dove  upon  her  branch 
Died  without  a  mate: 
The  enchanted  princess  in  her  tower 
Slept,  died,  behind  the  grate: 
Her  heart  was  starving  all  this  time 
You  made  it  wait." 


TOO    LATE    FOR    LOVE        221 

Jim  put  the  bit  of  paper  into  his  pocket  and  gave 
Pen  the  picture.  His  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"Pen !  Pen !"  he  cried.  "Let  me  make  it  up  to  you ! 
We  care  so  much!  Suppose  we  aren't  always  happy. 
Oh,  my  love,  a  month  of  life  with  you  would  make  me 
willing  to  bear  all  the  spiritual  drudgery  of  marriage !" 

White  to  the  lips,  Pen  answered  once  more :  "Jim, 
I  will  never  leave  Sara.  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
honor.  It's  the  last  foundation  that  the  whole  social 
fabric  rests  on.  I  promised  to  stay  with  Sara,  in  the 
marriage  service.  He's  kept  his  word.  It's  my  busi 
ness  to  keep  mine,  until  he  breaks  his." 

Jim  stood  with  set  face.     "Is  this  final,  Penelope?" 

"It's  final,  Still/' 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  go  on  alone,  Pen?" 

Pen  shook  her  head  and  Jim  turned  down  the  moun 
tainside.  And  Pen,  being  a  woman,  put  her  head 
down  on  her  knees  and  cried  her  heart  out.  Then 
she  went  back  to  Sara. 

That  night  Jim  answered  the  Secretary's  letter : 

"My  work  has  always  been  technical.  I  know  that 
the  Projects  are  not  the  success  their  sponsors  in  Con 
gress  hoped  they  would  be,  but  I  feel  that  you  ask  too 
much  of  your  engineers  when  you  ask  them  not  only 
to  make  the  dam  but  to  administer  it.  I  have  about 
concluded  that  an  engineer  is  a  futile  beast  of  triangles 
and  n-th  powers,  unfitted  by  his  very  talents  for  asso 
ciating  with  other  human  beings.  I  suppose  that  this 
letter  must  be  interpreted  as  my  admission  of  ineffi 
ciency." 

It  was  late  when  Jim  had  finished  this  letter.  He 
was,  he  thought,  alone  in  the  house.  He  laid  down 
his  pen.  A  sudden  overpowering  desire  came  upon 


222  STILL    JIM 

him  for  Exham,  for  the  old  haunts  of  his  childhood. 
There  it  seemed  to  him  that  some  of  his  old  confidence 
in  life  might  return  to  him.  He  dropped  his  arm  along 
the  back  of  his  chair  and  with  his  forehead  on  his 
wrist  he  gave  a  groan  of  utter  desolation. 

Mrs.  Flynn,  coming  in  at  the  open  door,  heard  the 
groan  and  saw  the  beautiful  brown  head  bowed  as  if 
in  despair.  She  stopped  aghast. 

"Oh,  my  Lord!"  she  gasped  under  her  breath. 
"Him,  too!  Mrs.  Penelope  ain't  the  only  one  that's 
broken  up,  then!  Ain't  it  fierce!  I  wonder  what's 
happened  to  the  poor  young  ones!  I'd  like  to  go  to 
Mr.  Sara's  wake.  I  would  that !  Oh,  my  Lord !  Let's 
see.  He's  had  two  baths  today.  I  can't  get  him  into 
another.  I'll  make  him  some  tea.  You  have  to  cheer 
up  either  to  eat  or  take  a  bath." 

She  slipped  into  the  kitchen  and  there  began  to 
bang  the  range  and  rattle  teacups.  When  she  came 
in,  Jim  was  sitting  erect  and  stern-faced,  sorting  pa 
pers.  Mrs.  Flynn  set  the  tray  down  on  the  desk  with 
a  thud.  She  was  going  to  take  no  refusal. 

"Drink  that  tea,  Boss  Still  Jim,  and  eat  them  toasted 
crackers.  You  didn't  eat  any  supper  to  speak  of  and 
you're  as  pindlin'  as  a  knitting  needle.  Don't  slop  on 
your  clean  suit.  That  khaki  is  hard  to  iron." 

She  stood  close  beside  him  and  made  an  imaginary 
thread  an  excuse  for  laying  her  hand  caressingly  on 
Jim's  shoulder.  "You're  a  fine  lad,"  she  said,  un 
certainly.  "I  wish  I'd  been  your  mother." 

The  touch  was  too  much  for  Jim.  He  dropped  the 
teacup  and,  turning,  laid  his  face  against  Mrs.  Flynn's 
shoulder. 


TOO    LATE    FOR    LOVE       223 

"I  could  pretend  you  were  tonight,  very  easily,"  he 
said  brokenly,  "if  you'd  smooth  my  hair  for  me." 

Mrs.  Flynn  hugged  the  broad  shoulders  to  her  and 
smoothed  back  Jim's  hair. 

"I've  been  wanting  to  get  my  hands  on  it  ever  since 
I  first  saw  it,  lad.  God  knows  it's  as  soft  as  silk  and 
just  the  color  of  oak  leaves  in  winter.  There,  now, 
hold  tight  a  bit,  my  boy.  We  can  weather  any  storm 
if  we  have  a  friend  to  lean  on,  and  I'm  that,  God 
knows.  It's  a  fearful  cold  I've  caught,  God  knows. 
You'll  have  to  excuse  my  snuffing.  There  now! 
There !  God  knows  that  in  my  waist  I've  got  a  letter 
for  you  from  Mrs.  Penelope.  She  seemed  used  up 
tonight.  Her  jewel  of  a  husband  took  dope  tonight, 
so  she  and  I  sat  in  peace  while  she  wrote  this.  I'll 
leave  it  on  your  tray.  Good-night  to  you,  Boss. 
Don't  slop  on  your  suit." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


JIM  MAKES  A  SPEECH 

"I  am  permanent  so  I  cannot  fully  understand  the 
tragedy  that  haunts  humans  from  their  birth,  the  trag 
edy  of  their  own  transitoriness." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

JIM  drank  his  tea,  staring  the  while  at  the.  envelope 
that  lay  on  the  tray.    Then  he  opened  the  envelope 
and  read : 

"DEAR  STILL:  Don't  say  that  I  must  go  away.  I  want  to  stay 
and  help  you.  I  promised  Iron  Skull  that  I  would.  I  don't 
want  to  add  one  breath  to  your  pain — nor  to  my  own  ! — and  yet 
I  feel  as  if  we  ought  to  forget  ourselves  and  think  only  of  the 
dam.  No  one  knows  you  as  I  do,  dear  Jim.  Iron  Skull  felt, 
and  so  do  I,  that  somehow,  sometime  I  can  help  you  to  be  the 
big  man  you  were  meant  to  be.  I  have  grown  to  feel  that  it 
was  for  that  purpose  I  have  lived  through  the  last  eight  years. 
If  it  will  not  hurt  you  too  much,  please,  Jim,  let  me  stay. 

PENELOPE." 

Jim  answered  the  note  immediately. 

"DEAREST  PEN  :  Give  me  a  day  or  so  to  get  braced  and  we 
will  go  on  as  before.  Stand  by  me,  Pen.  I  need  you,  dear. 

JIM." 

224 


JIM    MAKES    A    SPEECH      225 

But  it  was  nearly  two  weeks  before  Jim  talked  witl 
Pen  again.  For  a  number  of  days  he  devoted  himself 
day  and  night  to  the  preparations  for  starting  the  sec 
ond  section  of  the  dam  in  the  completed  excavation. 
Then  formal  notice  came  that  the  Congressional 
committee  would  arrive  at  the  dam  nearly  a  week  be 
fore  it  had  been  expected  and  Jim  was  overwhelmed 
in  preparations  for  its  reception.  The  first  three 
days  of  the  investigation  were  to  be  devoted  to  inspect 
ing  the  dam.  Jim  brought  the  committee  to  the  dam 
from  the  station  himself. 

There  were  five  men  on  the  committee,  two  New 
Englanders  and  three  far  westerners.  They  were 
the  same  five  men  who  a  year  before  had  investigated 
Arthur  Freet's  projects  and  they  were  baffled  and  sus 
picious.  And  Jim's  silence  irritated  them  far  more 
than  Arthur  Freet's  loquacity.  The  members  from 
the  West  and  from  Massachusetts  were,  in  spite  of 
this,  open-minded,  eager  for  information  and  inter 
ested  in  the  actual  work  of  the  dam  building.  The 
member  from  Vermont  pursued  Jim  with  the  bitter 
ness  of  a  fanatic. 

"A  Puritan  hang-over  is  what  ails  him,"  Jim  re 
marked  to  Henderson.  "He  would  burn  a  woman 
for  a  \vitch  for  having  three  moles  on  her  back,  as 
easy  as — as  he'd  fire  me !" 

Henderson  snorted :  "I  wish  he  was  fat.  I'd  take 
him  to  ride  in  Bill  Evans'  machine.  But,  gee!  he's 
so  thin  he'd  stick  in  the  seat  like  a  sliver!" 

Henderson  had  devoted  himself  to  the  entertain 
ment  of  the  visitors.  He  had  organized  a  picnic  to 
a  far  canyon  where  the  ' 'officers"  and  their  wives 
offered  the  committee  a  wonderful  camp  supper,  by 


226  STILL   JIM 

a  camp  fire  that  lighted  the  desert  for  miles.  He  had 
induced  the  Mexicans  in  the  lower  camp  to  give  one 
of  their  religious  plays  for  the  second  night's  enter 
tainment.  The  moving  picture  hall  was  turned  into  a 
theater  and  the  play,  in  queer  Spanish,  a  strange  mix 
ture  of  miracle-play  and  buffoonery,  delighted  the 
hombres  and  astounded  the  whites.  But  the  consum 
mation  of  Henderson's  art  as  an  entertainment  pro 
vider  was  to  be  the  Mask  Ball.  This  was  to  take  place 
after  the  hearing  at  Cabillo  was  finished. 

Jim  gave  all  his  time  to  the  committee.  He  turned 
the  office  and  its  force  over  to  them;  gave  them  the 
freedom  of  the  account  books  and  the  safe.  Let  them 
rummage  the  warehouse  and  its  system.  Explained 
his  engineering  mistakes  to  them.  Went  over  and 
over  the  details  of  the  flood,  of  the  weathering  abut 
ments,  of  the  concrete  that  did  not  come  up  to  speci 
fications,  of  the  new  system  of  concrete  mixture  that 
he  and  his  cement  engineer  were  evolving  and  which 
Jim  believed  in  so  ardently  that  he  was  using  it  on  the 
dam.  But  in  regard  to  Freet  or  to  any  graft  in  the 
Service  he  was  persistently  silent. 

The  Hearing  was  like  and  yet  unlike  the  May  hear 
ing.  It  lacked  the  dignity  of  the  first  occasion  and  the 
Vermont  member  who  presided  was  not  the  calm,  in 
scrutable  judge  that  the  Secretary  had  been.  The  hall 
in  Cabillo  was  packed  with  farmers  and  their  wives 
and  sweethearts  and  with  Del  Norte  citizens. 

The  main  effort  of  the  speakers  at  the  Hearing  was 
to  prove  the  inordinate  extravagance  and  incompetence 
of  Jim  and  his  associates.  For  three  days  Jim  an 
swered  questions  quietly  and  as  briefly  as  possible. 
But  he  was  not  able  to  compass  the  cool  indifference 


JIM    MAKES    A    SPEECH      227 

that  had  kept  him  staring  out  the  window  of  the  In 
terior  Department.  There  was  growing  within  him  an 
overwhelming  desire  to  protest.  He  saw  that,  how 
ever  fair  the  other  members  of  the  committee  were 
inclined  to  be,  their  certainty  of  Freet's  dishonesty, 
coupled  with  the  fact  that  he  was  a  pupil  of  Freet's, 
would  be  used  by  the  restless  vindictiveness  of  the 
Vermont  member  without  doubt,  to  bring  about  his 
dismissal. 

He  felt  an  increasing  desire  to  make  a  last  stand 
against  the  wall  of  the  nation's  indifference,  to  make 
the  people  of  the  Project  and  the  people  of  the  world 
understand  his  viewpoint.  But  words  failed  him  until 
the  last  day  of  the  Hearing. 

On  this  last  day,  Sara  and  Pen  attended  the  hearing, 
as  guests  of  Fleckenstein,  who  had  sent  his  great  tour 
ing  car  for  them.  Jim  nodded  to  them  across  the 
room  but  made  no  attempt  to  speak  to  them.  It  was 
nearing  five  o'clock  when  Fleckenstein  closed  his  tes 
timony. 

"The  Reclamation  Service,"  he  said,  "is  like  every 
other  department  of  the  government.  It  is  a  refuge 
for  the  incompetent  whose  one  skill  is  in  grafting. 
The  cost  of  this  dam  has  jumped  over  the  estimates 
by  hundreds  of  thousands.  Forty  dollars  an  acre  is 
what  the  farmers  of  this  project  must  pay  the  govern 
ment  instead  of  the  estimated  thirty.  I  do  not  lay  the 
whole  blame  on  Mr.  Manning,  even  though  he  is 
Freet's  pupil.  Part  of  it  is  due  to  the  criminal  ignor 
ance  and  weakness  of  Mr.  Manning's  predecessor.  We 
farmers •" 

"Stop!"  thundered  Jim.  He  jumped  to  his  feet. 
Fleckenstein  gasped.  Jim  threw  back  his  hair.  His 


228  STILL    JIM 

gray  eyes  were  black.  His  thin  brown  face  was 
flushed.  Under  his  khaki  riding  suit  his  long  steel 
muscles  were  tense. 

"My  predecessor  was  Frederick  Watts.  I  grew  to 
know  him  well.  He  was  a  master  mind  in  his  profes 
sion,  but  he  was  gentle  and  sensitive  and,  like  many 
men  who  have  lived  long  in  the  open,  silent.  About 
the  time  that  he  started  to  build  this  dam  the  money 
interests  in  this  country  decided  that  the  nation  was 
getting  too  much  water  power  control.  They  decided 
that  the  best  way  to  stop  the  nation's  growth  in  this 
direction  was  to  discredit  the  Service.  Frederick 
Watts  was  one  of  their  first  targets.  By  means  too 
subtle  for  me  to  understand,  they  set  machinery  go 
ing  in  this  vicinity  by  which  every  step  that  Watts 
took  was  made  a  kick  against  him. 

"They  never  let  up  on  him.  They  hounded  him. 
They  put  him  to  shame  with  the  nation  and  in  the 
privacy  of  his  own  family.  Watts  was  over  fifty  years 
old.  He  was  no  fighter.  All  he  wanted  was  a  chance 
to  build  his  dam.  He  was  gentle  and  silent.  He  went 
into  nervous  prostration  and  died,  still  silent,  a  broken 
hearted  man. 

"Up  in  the  big  silent  places  you  will  find  his  monu 
ments;  dams  high  in  mountain  fastnesses,  an  imper 
ishable  part  of  the  mountains ;  trestles  that  bridge  can 
yons  which  birds  feared  to  cross.  He  spent  his  life 
in  utter  hardships  making  ways  easy  for  others  to 
follow.  These  monuments  will  stand  forever.  But 
the  name  of  their  builder  has  become  a  blackened 
thing  for  rats  like  Fleckenstein  to  handle  with  dirty 
claws. 

"And  now  they  are  after  me.     And  you,  many  of 


JIM    MAKES    A    SPEECH      229 

you,  in  this  audience,  are  the  sometimes  innocent  and 
sometimes  paid  instruments  of  my  downfall.  You  ac 
cuse  me  of  grafting,  of  lying  and  stealing.  You  don't 
understand." 

Jim  paused  and  moistened  his  lips.  The  room  was 
breathless.  Pen  could  hear  her  heart  beat.  She  dug 
her  fingernails  into  her  palm.  Could  he,  could  he  find 
the  words?  Even  if  these  people  did  not  understand, 
could  he  not  say  something  that  would  teach  her  how 
to  help  him  ?  Jim  did  not  see  the  crowded  room.  Be 
fore  him  was  his  father's  dying  face  and  Iron  Skull's. 
His  hands  felt  their  dying  fingers. 

"I  am  a  New  Englander.  My  people  came  to  New 
England  250  years  ago  and  fought  the  wilderness  for 
a  home.  We  were  Anglo-Saxons.  We  were  trail 
makers,  lawmakers,  empire  builders.  We  founded 
this  nation.  We  threw  open  the  doors  to  the  world 
and  then  we  were  unable  to  withstand  the  flood  that 
answered  our  invitation.  The  New  Englander  in 
America  is  as  dead  as  the  Indian  or  the  buffalo.  My 
people  have  failed  and  died  with  the  rest.  I  am  the 
last  of  my  line. 

"But  I  have  the  craving  of  my  ancestry  with  some 
thing  more.  I  can  see  the  tragedy  of  my  race.  I  know 
that  the  day  will  come  when  the  civilization  of 
America  will  be  South  European;  that  our  every  in 
stitution  will  be  altered  to  suit  the  needs  of  the  Scuth 
European  and  Asiatic  mind. 

"I  want  to  leave  an  imperishable  Anglo-Saxon 
thumb  print  on  the  map ;  a  thumb  print  that  no  future 
changes  can  obliterate,  a  thumb  print  that  shall  be  less 
transitory  than  the  pyramids  because  it  will  be  a  part 


230  STILL   JIM 

of  the  fundamental  needs  of  a  people  as  long  as  they 
hunger  or  thirst. 

"Look  at  the  roster  of  the  Reclamation  Service. 
You  will  find  it  a  roster  of  men  whom  the  old  vision 
has  sent  into  dam  building  and  road  making.  Here 
in  the  Service  you  will  find  the  last  stand  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  trail  makers. 

"I  want  to  build  this  dam.  I  want  to  build  it  so 
that,  by  God,  it  shall  be  standing  and  delivering  water 
when  the  law  that  makes  it  possible  shall  have  passed 
from  the  memory  of  man!  And  you  won't  let  me 
build  it.  You,  some  of  you  Anglo-Saxons  yourselves, 
destined  to  be  obliterated  as  I  shall  be,  are  fighting  me. 
You  say  that  I  am  stealing.  I,  fighting  to  leave  a 
thumb  print!" 

Jim  dropped  into  his  seat  and  for  a  moment  there 
was  such  silence  in  the  room  that  the  palm  leaves  out 
side  the  window  could  be  heard  rattling  softly  in  the 
breeze.  Then  there  broke  forth  a  great  round  of 
handclapping,  and  during  this  Jim  slipped  out.  He 
was  not  much  deceived  by  the  applause.  He  knew 
that  it  would  take  more  than  a  burst  of  eloquence 
to  overcome  the  influences  at  work  against  the 
Service. 

He  returned  to  the  dam  that  night,  Pen  and  Sara 
came  up  the  next  day  and  that  evening  Jim  went  over 
to  call.  It  was  his  first  word  with  Pen  since  the  walk 
to  Wind  Ridge.  He  found  Sara  sleeping  heavily. 
Pen  greeted  him  casually. 

"Hello,  Still!  Sara  was  suffering  so  frightfully 
after  his  trip  that  he  took  his  morphine.  It  was  in 
sane  of  him  to  go  to  the  Hearing,  but  he  would  do  it. 
Sit  down.  We  won't  disturb  him  a  bit." 


JIM    MAKES    A    SPEECH      231 

She  pulled  the  blanket  over  the  unconscious  man 
in  her  usual  tender  way. 

"You  are  mighty  good  to  him,  Pen,"  said  Jim. 

"I  try  to  be.  I  guess  I'm  as  good  to  him  as  he'll 
let  me  be,  poor  fellow.  Jim,  he  was  fine  in  his  col 
lege  days,  wasn't  he?" 

"I  never  saw  a  more  magnificent  physique,"  an 
swered  Jim.  "He  was  a  great  athlete  and  I  used  to 
believe  he  was  a  greater  financier  than  Morgan." 

Pen  looked  at  Jim  gratefully.  "And  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  accident  he  would  have  been  just  as  easy 
to  get  along  with  as  the  average  man." 

Jim  chuckled.  "I  don't  know  whether  that's  a  com 
pliment  to  Sara  or  an  insult  to  the  average  man.  What 
have  you  done  with  yourself  during  the  investiga 
tion?" 

"Taken  care  of  Sara,  communed  with  my  soul  and 
the  laundry  problem  and  had  several  nice  talks  with 
Jane  Ames.  She  is  a  dear." 

Jim  nodded.  Then  he  pulled  the  Secretary's  letter 
from  his  pocket  with  a  copy  of  his  own  answer  and 
handed  them  to  Pen.  "I've  come  for  advice  and 
comment,"  he  said. 

Pen  read  both  and  her  cheeks  flushed.  "Have  you 
sent  your  answer?" 

Jim  nodded. 

Pen  stared  at  him  a  moment  with  her  mouth  open, 
then  she  said,  with  heartfelt  sincerity,  "Jim,  I'm  per 
fectly  disgusted  with  you !" 

Jim  gasped. 

"Like  the  average  descendant  of  the  Puritan,"  Pen 
sniffed,  "you  are  lying  down  on  your  job.  Thank 
God,  I'm  Irish!" 


232  STILL    JIM 

"Gee,  Pen,  you're  actually  cross!" 

"I  am!  If  I  were  not  a  perfect  lady  I'd  slap  you 
and  put  my  tongue  out  at  you,  anything  that  would 
adequately  express  my  disdain!  For  pig-headed  big 
otry,  bounded  on  the  north  by  high  principles  and  on 
the  south  by  big  dreams,  give  me  a  New  Englander! 
You  make  me  tired !" 

'Tor  the  Lord's  sake,  Pen !" 

Pen  laid  down  her  bit  of  sewing  and  looked  at  Jim 
long  and  earnestly,  then  she  said,  quietly,  "Jim,  why 
don't  you  go  to  work?" 

Jim  looked  flushed  and  bewildered.  "I  work  eigh 
teen  hours  a  day." 

Pen  groaned.  "I'm  talking  about  your  capacity,  not 
your  output.  You  are  only  using  half  of  what  is  in 
you,  Still.  You  build  the  dam  and  you  refuse  to  do 
anything  else.  Why,  with  your  kind  of  creative,  en 
gineering  mind,  you  are  perfectly  capable  of  admin 
istering  the  dam,  too.  Of  handling  all  the  problems 
connected  with  it  in  a  cool,  scientific  way  that  would 
come  very  near  being  ideal  justice.  You  know  that  the 
projects  are  an  experiment  in  government  activity. 
You  know  that  the  people  who  will  control  them  have 
no  experience  or  training  that  will  fit  them  for  han 
dling  the  projects.  Yet  you  refuse  to  help  them.  You 
are  just  as  stupid  and  just  as  selfish  as  if  you  had  built 
a  complicated  machine  and  had  turned  it  over  to  chil 
dren  to  run,  refusing  them  all  explanation  or  guid 


ance." 


Pen  paused,  breathless,  her  cheeks  scarlet,  her  eyes 
glowing.  Jim  watched  her,  his  face  pitifully  eager. 
Perhaps,  he  thought,  Pen  was  actually  going  to  lay 
her  finger  on  the  cause  of  his  inadequacy. 


JIM    MAKES    A    SPEECH      233 

"Instead  of  antagonizing  every  farmer  on  the  Pro 
ject,  you  ought  to  be  making  them  feel  that  you  are 
their  partner  and  friend  in  a  mighty  difficult  business. 
You  told  us  yesterday  that  your  ancestors  not  only 
made  the  trail  but  also  the  law  of  the  trail.  What  are 
you  doing?  It's  your  own  fault  if  you  lose  your  job, 
Still!" 

Pen  got  up  and  turned  Sara's  pillow  and  shaded 
the  light  from  his  face,  mechanically. 

"You  are  just  like  all  the  rest  of  what  you  call  the 
Anglo-Americans.  You  go  about  feeling  superior  and 
abused  and  calling  the  immigrants  hard  names.  You 
are  just  a  lot  of  quitters.  You  have  refused  national 
service.  If  you  are  a  dying  race  and  you  are  con 
vinced  that  the  world  can't  afford  to  lose  your  insti 
tutions,  how  low  down  you  are  not  to  feel  that  your 
last  duty  to  society  is  to  show  by  personal  example 
the  value  of  your  institutions." 

"I  don't  see  what  I  can  do,"  protested  Jim. 

"That's  just  what  I'm  trying  to  show  you,"  retorted 
Pen.  "I  have  to  plow  through  your  ignorance  first — 
clear  the  ground,  you  know!  After  you  Anglo-Amer 
icans  founded  the  government  most  of  you  went  to 
money  making  and  left  it  to  be  administered  by  people 
who  were  racially  and  traditionally  different  from 
you.  You  left  your  immigration  problems  to  senti 
mentalists  and  money-makers.  You  left  the  law-mak 
ing  to  money-makers.  You  refused  to  serve  the  na 
tion  in  a  disinterested,  future-seeing  way  which  was 
your  duty  if  you  wanted  your  institutions  to  live. 
You  descendants  of  New  England  are  quitters.  And 
you  are  going  to  lose  your  dam  because  of  that  simple 
fact." 


234  STILL   JIM 

Jim  began  to  pace  the  floor.  "Did  you  ever  talk  this 
over  with  Uncle  Denny,  Penelope?" 

"No!"  she  gave  a  scornful  sniff.  "If  ever  I  had 
dared  to  criticize  you,  he'd  have  turned  me  out  of  the 
house.  No  one  can  live  in  New  York  and  hot  think 
a  great  deal  about  immigration  problems.  And — I 
have  been  with  you  much  in  the  past  eight  years, 
Jimmy.  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  have  thought 
about  you  and  your  work.  And  then,  just  before  old 
Iron  Skull  was  killed,  he  turned  you  over  to  me." 

Jim  paused  before  her.  "He  was  worried  about 
you,  too,"  she  went  on.  "He  said  you  were  not  getting 
the  big  grasp  on  things  that  you  ought  and  that  I  must 
help  you." 

"I  wonder  if  that  was  what  he  was  trying  to  tell  me 
when  he  was  killed,"  said  Jim.  "The  dear  old  man! 
Go  on,  Pen." 

"I've  just  this  much  more  to  say,  Jim,  and  that  is 
that  if  the  Reclamation  Service  idea  fails,  it's  more  the 
fault  of  you  engineers  than  of  anyone  else.  The  sort 
of  thing  you  engineers  do  on  the  dam  is  typical  of  the 
Anglo-American  in  the  whole  country.  You  are 
quitters !" 

"Pen,  don't  you  say  that  again!"  exclaimed  Jim, 
sharply.  "I'm  doing  all  I  can!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  MASK  BALL 

"I  have  seen  in  the  coyote  pack  that  coyotes  who  will 
not  hunt  and  fight  for  the  pack  must  starve  and  die." 
MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

YOU  are  not!"  returned  Pen  flatly.  "You  don't 
see  the  human  side  of  your  problem  at  all. 
You  have  made  Oscar  Ames  hate  you.  Yet  no 
man  could  live  the  life  and  do  the  things  that  Oscar 
has  and  not  have  developed  a  fine  big  side  to  his  nature. 
You  never  see  that.  And  the  dam  is  more  Oscar's 
than  it  is  yours.  It  is  for  him.  Still,  somehow  you 
have  got  to  make  every  farmer  on  the  Project  your 
partner.  Make  them  feel  that  you  and  the  dam  are 
theirs.  Show  them  how  to  take  care  of  the  things  the 
dam  will  produce.  Jim,  dear,  make  your  thumb  print 
in  the  hearts  of  men  as  well  as  in  concrete,  if  you 
would  have  your  work  endure." 

Jim  paced  the  floor  steadily.  Old  visions  were  pass 
ing  before  his  eyes.  Once  more  he  saw  the  degraded 
mansions  on  the  elm-shaded  streets.  Old  Exham, 
with  its  lost  ideals.  Ideals  of  what?  Was  Pen  right? 
Was  it  the  ideal  of  national  responsibility  that  Exham 
had  lost — the  ideal  that  had  built  the  town  meeting 
house  and  the  public  school,  that  had  produced  the 

235 


236  STILL    JIM 

giants  of  those  early  days,  giants  who  had  ruled  the 
nation  with  an  integrity  long  lost  to  these  later  times. 

"My  father  said  to  me,  'Somehow  we  Americans 
have  fallen  down  on  our  jobs !'  "  said  Jim,  pausing  be 
fore  Pen,  finally.  "Pen,  I  wonder  if  he  would  have 
thought  your  reason  the  right  one?" 

Then  he  lifted  Pen's  chin  to  look  long  into  her  eyes. 
Slowly  his  wistful  smile  illumined  his  face.  "Thank 
you,  dear,"  he  said  and,  turning,  he  went  out  into  the 
night. 

The  next  night  was  given  the  Mask  Ball  in  honor  of 
the  committee.  Nobody  knew  what  conclusion  the 
eminent  gentleman  had  reached  in  regard  to  Jim  and 
his  associates.  But  everyone  did  his  best  to  contribute 
to  the  hilarity  of  the  occasion. 

The  gray  adobe  building  where  the  unmarried  office 
men  and  engineers  lived  was  gay  with  colored  lights 
and  cedar  festoons.  The  hall  in  the  rear  of  the  build 
ing  had  an  excellent  dancing  floor.  The  orchestra  was 
composed  of  three  Mexicans — hombres — with  mando 
lins  and  a  guitar,  and  an  Irish  rough-neck  who  brought 
from  the  piano  a  beauty  of  melody  that  was  like  a 
memory  of  the  Sod.  The  four  men  produced  dance 
music  that  New  York  might  have  envied. 

Several  Cabillo  couples  attended  the  dance.  Oscar 
Ames  and  Jane  and  one  or  two  other  ranchers  and 
their  wives  were  there.  All  the  wives  of  the  officers' 
camp  came  and  the  bachelors  searched  both  the  upper 
and  lower  camps  for  partners,  with  some  very  charm 
ing  results.  Mrs.  Flynn  sat  with  Sara,  and  Jim  in 
sisted  that  instead  of  going  with  Jane  and  Oscar,  as 
she  had  planned,  that  he  be  allowed  to  take  Pen  to 
the  first  ball  she  had  attended  since  her  marriage. 


THE    MASK    BALL  237 

Henderson  had  ordered  that  the  costumes  be  kept 
a  great  secret.  Through  a  Los  Angeles  firm  he  pro 
vided  dominoes  for  the  five  committeemen.  But  there 
were  half  a  dozen  other  dominoes  at  the  ball,  so  the 
committee  quickly  lost  its  identity.  Oscar  Ames  came 
as  a  hobo.  Henderson  had  a  policeman's  uniform, 
while  the  two  cub  engineers  wore,  one,  a  cowboy  out 
fit;  the  other,  an  Indian  chief's.  Mrs.  Henderson  was 
dressed  as  a  squaw. 

Penelope  wore  a  flower  girl's  costume,  improvised 
from  the  remains  of  the  chintz  she  had  brought  from 
New  York.  Jim  viewed  her  with  great  complaisance. 
No  one  could  look  like  Pen,  he  thought,  and  he  would 
dance  with  her  all  the  evening.  Jim  went  as  a  monk. 
To  his  chagrin,  when  they  reached  the  hall  he  found 
that  Pen  had  made  Mrs.  Ames  a  costume  exactly  like 
her  own,  and  with  the  complete  face  masks  they  wore, 
they  might  have  been  twins.  They  were  just  of  a 
height  and  Mrs.  Ames  danced  well.  The  children  and 
the  phonograph  had  long  ago  attended  to  that. 

There  was  nothing  stupid  about  the  ball  from  the 
very  start.  The  policeman  ended  the  grand  march 
by  arresting  the  hobo,  who  put  up  a  fight  that  included 
two  of  the  dominoes.  The  orchestra  swung  into  "La 
Paloma"  and  in  a  moment  the  hall  was  full  of  swaying 
colors,  drifting  through  the  golden  desert  dust  that 
filled  the  room.  There  were  twice  as  many  men  at  the 
ball  as  women.  The  latter  were  popular  to  the  point 
of  utter  exhaustion. 

Henderson  looked  over  the  tallest  domino,  seized 
him  by  the  throat  and  with  wild  flourishes  of  his  club, 
backed  him  into  a  corner. 

"Say,  Boss  Still  Jim,"  he  whispered,  "that  old  nut 


238  STILL   JIM 

of  a  chairman  doesn't  look  as  if  he  had  anything  but 
skim  milk  in  his  veins.  But  do  you  sabez  he's  danced 
three  times  with  that  little  fat  ballet  girl  and  he's  hug 
ging  the  daylights  out  of  her.  He'd  ought  to  be  in 
vestigated." 

The  tall  domino  looked  at  the  couple  indicated.  "I'll 
start  investigating,  myself,"  he  whispered. 

"Wish  I  could  get  a  dance  with  her,  but  I  can't," 
said  Henderson.  "My  Missis  knows  who  I  am.  I 
ain't  got  her  spotted  yet,  though.  Yes,  I  have.  That 
flower  girl's  her.  I'd  know  the  way  she  jerks  her 
shoulders  anywhere." 

He  cut  neatly  in  and  separated  the  flower  girl  from 
the  monk.  "Look  here,  Minnie,"  he  said  gently. 
"You  ain't  called  on  to  dance  like  a  broncho,  you  know. 
Remember,  you're  the  mother  of  a  family!  Cut  out 
having  too  many  dances  with  that  monk.  He  holds 
you  too  tight.  I  think  he's  one  of  the  committee  men. 
You  floss  up  to  the  tallest  domino  and  give  him  a  good 
time.  That's  the  Boss." 

The  flower  girl  sniggered  and  Henderson  pushed 
her  from  him  with  marital  impatience  and  took  an  In 
dian  squaw  away  from  the  hobo. 

"Come  on,  little  girl,"  he  said.  "You  can  dance  all 
right.  If  my  wife  wasn't  here  I'd  show  you  a  time." 

The  squaw  stiffened  and  the  monk  swung  her  away 
from  Jack,  wrho  immediately  arrested  old  Dad  Robins, 
the  night  watchman,  who  was  taking  a  sly  peak  off  his 
beat  at  the  festivities.  Henderson  forced  the  delighted 
old  man  through  a  waltz,  with  himself  as  a  very  lan 
guishing  partner. 

The  hobo,  dancing  with  one  of  the  flower  girls,  said : 
"Jane,  I've  been  trying  to  get  a  chance  to  warn  you 


THE    MASK    BALL  239 

not  to  say  anything  to  Mrs.  Penelope  about  that  deal 
with  Freet.  I  was  a  fool  to  let  you  see  that  letter 
tonight.  Now  I'm  getting  into  national  politics,  you've 
got  to  learn  to  keep  your  mouth  shut." 

"How'd  you  know  me?"  whispered  the  flower  girl. 

"You  don't  dance  as  good  as  Mrs.  Pen,"  he  replied. 

Here  the  monk  stole  the  flower  girl  and  danced  off 
with  her,  firmly. 

"Remember  the  dance  at  Coney  Island  and  how 
mean  you  were  to  me?"  he  whispered. 

"And  how  bossy  and  high-handed  you  were  about 
the  bathing?  How  did  you  know  me?" 

The  monk  hugged  the  flower  girl  to  him.  "You 
haven't  lived  in  my  heart  for  all  these  years  without 
my  getting  to  know  you !" 

And  the  flower  girl  sighed  ecstatically. 

The  tall  domino,  dancing  with  the  other  flower  girl, 
felt  the  strains  of  Espanita  creeping  up  his  backbone, 
and  he  said, 

"There  is  something  in  the  air  out  here  that  is  al 
most  intoxicating!" 

The  flower  girl  answered :  "It'll  do  more  than  that 
for  you,  if  you'll  give  it  a  chance.  It  will  make  you 
see  things." 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  replied  the  domino  in  a 
dignified  way. 

"I  mean  you'd  see  if  you  stayed  here  long  enough 
that  what  Jim  Manning  needs  is  help,  not  investigat- 
ing." 

"How  do  you  know  I'm  not  Manning?" 

The  flower  girl  sniffed.  "I'm  an  old  woman  so  I 
can  tell  you  that  no  woman  would  ever  mistake  him 
for  anyone  else  after  she'd  once  danced  with  him." 


240  STILL   JIM 

"He  is  making  a  most  regrettable  record  here,"  very 
stiffly  from  the  domino. 

"Shucks!  Why  don't  you  fire  Arthur  Freet?  I 
warn  you  right  now  that  he's  trying  to  get  his  hooks 
into  this  dam." 

"The  Service  might  well  dispense  with  both  of  them, 
I  believe,"  said  the  domino. 

The  flower  girl  sniffed  again.  "You  politicians — " 
she  began,  when  she  was  interrupted  by  a  call  at  the 
door. 

The  music  stopped.  A  white-faced  boy  had  mount 
ed  a  chair  and  was  shouting  hysterically:  "Where's 
the  Boss?  The  hombres  have  shot  my  father!" 

"It's  Dad  Robins'  boy !  Why,  the  old  man  was  here 
a  bit  ago !"  cried  someone. 

The  monk  pulled  off  his  mask  and  flung  his  robe 
in  the  corner.  "Oscar,"  he  said  to  the  hobo,  who  had 
unmasked,  "see  to  Mrs.  Penelope." 

Then  he  grasped  young  Robins  by  the  arm  and 
rushed  with  him  from  the  hall. 

Oscar  hurried  Pen  and  Jane  up  to  the  tent  house 
with  scant  ceremony,  then  ran  for  the  lower  town. 
Mrs.  Flynn  and  Sara  were  greatly  surprised  by  the 
early  return  of  the  merrymakers.  The  four  waited 
eagerly  for  news.  Sara  would  not  let  any  of  the 
women  stir  from  the  tent,  saying  that  it  was  unsafe 
until  they  knew  what  had  happened.  At  midnight  Os 
car  returned. 

"They  got  poor  old  Dad.  After  he  left  the  hall,  he 
was  going  past  a  lighted  tent  in  the  lower  town  when 
he  heard  sounds  of  a  fight.  He  went  in  and  found 
two  drunken  Mexicans  fighting  over  a  flask  of  whis 
key.  He  took  the  whiskey  and  told  them  to  go  to  bed. 


THE    MASK    BALL  241 

He  started  out  into  the  street  and  the  two  jumped  him 
and  started  to  stab  him  to  death.  He  yelled  and  the 
sheriff  and  his  boy  was  the  only  folks  in  all  that  town 
dared  to  go  help  him.  The  two  hombres  shot  the 
sheriff  in  the  arm  before  he  located  them  and  got 
away.  They  had  finished  poor  old  Dad,  though.  Mr. 
Manning's  got  posses  out  and  will  start  more  at  day 
light.  If  you'll  put  Jane  up  for  the  night,  Mrs.  Flynn, 
I'll  go  back  to  the  lower  town.  You'd  ought  to  see 
those  committeemen.  Three  of  them  would  have  gone 
out  with  a  posse,  I'll  bet,  if  they  hadn't  remembered 
their  dignity  in  time!" 

Jim  had  his  hands  full.  By  daylight  the  next  morn 
ing  there  was  every  prospect  of  a  wholesale  battle  be 
tween  the  Americans  and  the  Mexicans.  The  camp 
was  at  fever  pitch  with  excitement.  The  two  shifts 
not  at  work  swarmed  the  streets  of  the  lower  camp, 
the  Mexicans  at  the  far  end,  the  Americans  at  the 
upper  end  near  Dad  Robins'  house,  whence  came  the 
sound  of  an  old  woman's  hard  sobs.  After  a  hurried 
breakfast  at  the  lower  mess,  Jim  joined  this  crowd. 
The  men  circled  round  him,  all  talking  at  once.  Jim 
listened  for  a  time,  then  he  raised  his  arm  for  silence. 
"It  was  booze  did  it !  Booze  and  nothing  else !  Am  I 
right?" 

Reluctant  nods  went  around  the  crowd.  "And  yet," 
Jim  went  on,  "there's  hardly  a  white  man  in  the  camp 
who  hasn't  fought  me  on  my  ruling  that  liquor  must 
not  come  within  the  government  lines.  You  all  know 
what  booze  means  in  a  place  like  this.  Those  of  you 
who  were  with  me  at  Makon  know  what  we  suffered 
from  it  up  there.  I  know  you  fellows,  decent,  kindly 
men  now,  in  spite  of  your  threats  to  lynch  the  hombres. 


242  STILL    JIM 

But  if  you  could  get  booze,  you'd  make  this  camp  a 
hell  on  earth  right  now.  No  better  than  a  drunken 
Mexican  is  a  drunken  white.  Am  I  right  ?" 

Again  reluctant  nods  and  half -sheepish  grins. 

"Now,  you  fellows  forget  your  lynching  bee.  Com 
mons,  Ralston,  Schwartz,  you  make  a  committee  to 
raise  enough  money  to  send  Mrs.  Robins  and  the  boy 
back  to  New  Hampshire  with  the  body.  Here  is  ten 
to  start  with.  They  must  leave  this  noon.  Tom 
Weeks,  you  make  the  funeral  arrangements.  I'll  see 
that  transportation  is  ready  at  noon.  Bill  Underwood, 
you  get  a  posse  of  fifty  men  and  quarantine  this  camp 
for  booze." 

A  little  laugh  went  through  the  crowd.  Billy  Un 
derwood  had  been  the  chief  malcontent  under  Jim's 
liquor  ruling.  Bill  did  not  laugh.  He  began  to  pick 
his  men  with  the  manner  of  a  general. 

"One  word  more,"  said  Jim.  "You  all  know  that 
the  United  States  Reclamation  Service  is  under  the 
suspicion  of  the  nation.  They  call  you  and  me  a  bunch 
of  grafters.  It's  up  to  you  as  much  as  it  is  to  me  to 
show  today  that  we  are  men  and  not  lawless  hoboes." 

A  little  murmur  of  applause  swept  through  the 
crowd  as  Jim  turned  on  his  heel.  He  made  his  way 
into  the  Mexican  end  of  the  camp.  There  was  noise 
here  of  talking  and  quarreling.  Jim  walked  up  to  a 
tall  Mexican  who  was  in  a  way  a  padrone  among  the 
hombres. 

"Garces,"  said  Jim,  "send  the  night  shift  to  bed." 

Garces  eyed  Jim  through  half-shut  eyes.  Jim  did 
not  move  a  muscle.  "Why?"  asked  the  Mexican. 

"Because  I  shall  put  them  to  bed  unless  they  are 
gone  in  five  minutes." 


THE    MASK    BALL  243 

Jim  pulled  out  his  watch.  In  just  four  minutes, 
after  a  shouted  order  from  Garces,  the  street  was 
cleared  of  more  than  half  the  hombres. 

"Now,"  said  Jim,  "except  when  the  shifts  change, 
you  are  to  keep  your  people  this  side  of  the  ditch/' 
pointing  to  the  line  that  separated  the  Mexican  and 
American  camps.  "I  have  fifty  men  scouring  the 
camp  for  whiskey.  Anybody  found  with  liquor  will 
be  arrested.  If  there  is  a  particle  of  trouble  over  it  in 
your  camp,  I'll  let  the  Gringos  loose.  Sabez?" 

Garces  shivered  a  little.    "Yes,  senor,"  he  said. 

Jim  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  street  on  his  horse, 
then  started  for  the  dam  site.  As  he  cantered  up  the 
road,  Billy  Underwood,  mounted  on  a  moth-eaten 
pony,  saluted  with  dignity. 

"Boss,  that  saloon  keeper  up  the  canyon  has  got  a 
billion  bottles  of  booze.  Worst  whiskey  you  ever 
smelled.  He  says  he's  laying  for  you  and  if  you  cross 
his  doorstep,  he'll  shoot  you  up." 

Jim  looked  at  Bill  meditatively.  "Bill,  I'm  going 
to  call  his  bluff!" 

"Us  fellows  in  my  posse'll  shoot  his  place  up  if  you 
say  the  word,"  cried  Bill  eagerly. 

"No,  that  won't  do,"  replied  Jim.  "But  I  have  an 
idea  that  he's  a  four-flusher.  Keep  your  eye  on 
'Mexico  City,'  Bill.  I  am  afraid  of  trouble,  though 
I've  got  Garces  buffaloed  so  far." 

Jim  turned  his  horse  and  cantered  back  through 
Mexico  City  along  the  narrow  river  trail  to  Cactus 
Canyon.  Just  off  the  government  reserve  was  a  tent 
with  a  sheet  iron  roof.  The  trail  to  the  tent  was  well 
worn.  Jim  dropped  the  reins  over  the  pony's  head 
and  walked  into  the  tent.  There  was  a  rough  bar 


244  STILL   JIM 

across  one  end,  behind  which  stood  a  quiet- faced  man 
with  a  black  mustache.  Drinking  at  the  bar  were  two 
white  men  whom  Jim  recognized  as  foremen. 

"You  two  fellows  are  fired,"  drawled  Jim.  "Turn 
in  your  time  and  leave  camp  this  afternoon." 

The  Big  Boss  is  king  on  a  project.  The  two  men 
meekly  set  down  their  glasses  and  filed  out  of  the  tent. 
It  was  something  to  have  been  fired  by  the  big  boss 
himself. 

"And  who  are  you?"  asked  the  saloonkeeper. 

"Don't  you  recognize  me,  Murphy?"  asked  Jim, 
pleasantly.  "I  have  the  advantage  of  you  there.  My 
name  is  Manning." 

The  saloonkeeper  made  a  long-armed  reach  for  a 
gun  that  stood  in  the  corner. 

"One  moment,  please,"  said  Jim.  As  he  spoke  he 
jumped  over  the  bar,  bearing  the  saloonkeeper  down 
with  him  before  the  long-armed  reach  encompassed 
the  gun.  Jim  removed  Murphy's  knife,  then  picked 
up  the  gun  himself. 

Murphy  started  for  the  door  with  a  jump.  "Break 
nothing!"  he  yelled.  "I'll  have  the  law  of  New  Mex 
ico  on  you  for  this." 

Murphy  leaped  directly  into  Bill  Underwood's  arms. 
"Hello,  sweetie,"  said  Bill,  holding  Murphy  close. 
"Thought  I'd  come  up  and  see  how  you  was  making 
it,  Boss." 

"Nicely,  thanks,"  said  Jim.  "I'll  be  finished  as  soon 
as  he  breaks  up  his  stock." 

"It'll  be  some  punishment  for  me  to  watch  a  job  like 
that,"  said  Bill,  "but  I'm  with  you,  Boss." 

He  shifted  his  gun  conspicuously  as  he  released 
Murphy.  Bill  owed  the  saloonkeeper  something  over 


THE    MASK    BALL  245 

six  weeks'  pay.  The  occasion  had  an  unholy  joy  for 
him.  Murphy  looked  Jim  over,  scratched  his  head 
and  started  to  whistle  nonchalantly.  In  ten  minutes 
he  had  destroyed  his  stock  in  trade.  When  he  had 
finished,  he  handed  Jim  the  key  of  the  tent  with  a  pro 
found  bow. 

"Now/'  said  Jim,  "drop  a  match  on  the  floor." 

When  the  flames  were  well  caught  Jim  said,  "See 
that  he  leaves  camp,  Bill."  Then  he  mounted  and  rode 
away. 

Murphy  looked  after  him  curiously.  "Some  man, 
ain't  he?"  he  said  to  Bill. 

"I'll  eat  out  of  his  hand  any  time,"  replied  Bill. 
"Get  your  pony,  Murphy." 

"I'll  join  your  posse,"  suggested  Murphy.  "I  bet 
I  can  ferret  out  more  booze  than  any  three  of  you." 

"Nothing  doing!"  growled  Bill.  "Should  think  you 
would  have  better  taste  than  to  wanta  do  that." 

Murphy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  want  you  to 
let  me  go  up  to  that  Greek  fellow's  place  before  I  go," 
he  said. 

Bill  stared  but  made  no  comment. 

As  Jim  rode  back  through  the  lower  town  he  stopped 
young  Hartman,  the  government  photographer. 

"Hartman,"  he  asked,  "have  the  films  for  the 
movies  come  in  yet?" 

"Came  in  yesterday,  Mr.  Manning." 

"Good  work!  Hartman,  will  you  give  us  a  show 
this  evening?" 

"The  hall's  in  pretty  rough  shape  but  if  you  want 
it " 

"I  want  it  to  keep  things  quiet,  Hartman,  till  we  find 
those  hombres  and  get  them  in  jail  at  Cabillo." 


246  STILLJIM 

The  young  fellow  nodded.  "I'll  have  things  ready 
at  seven.  After  the  funeral,  I'll  get  the  word  out." 

Jim  rode  on  to  his  neglected  work  at  the  office. 
There  he  found  the  members  of  the  committee  await 
ing  him.  Even  the  chairman  was  eager  to  know  de 
tails  of  occurrences  since  they  had  gone  reluctantly 
to  bed  after  midnight. 

When  Jim  had  finished  his  story,  the  Vermont  man 
said  pompously:  "You  seem  to  manage  men  rather 
well,  Mr.  Manning.  In  behalf  of  my  colleagues  I 
wish  to  thank  you  for  your  hospitality  to  us.  As  you 
know,  we  must  leave  this  afternoon." 

Jim  nodded.  "I  shall  have  my  superintendent  take 
you  over  to  the  train.  You  will  understand  that  I  do 
not  want  to  leave  the  camp  myself." 

"I  wish  we  could  stay  and  see  the  end  of  this,"  said 
one  of  the  members.  "It's  like  life  in  a  dime  novel." 

"My  chief  regret  is  that  we  only  had  half  of  the 
Mask  Ball.  After  this,  when  my  constituents  are 
tempted  to  give  me  a  dinner,  I  shall  urge  a  Mask  Ball 
instead.  Never  had  one  given  for  me  before  and  no 
debutante  ever  had  anything  on  my  feelings  last 
night,"  said  another. 

"Henderson  should  have  been  a  country  squire," 
said  Jim.  "He's  a  perfect  host." 

The  camp  was  quiet  during  the  afternoon.  Jim  saw 
the  committee  off  at  five  o'clock,  then  went  up  to  the 
tent  house.  Sara  and  he  glanced  at  each  other  coolly 
and  nodded.  Pen  started  the  conversation  hurriedly. 

"What  word  from  the  two  hombres?" 

Jim  shook  his  head.  "One  posse  got  away  last  night 
before  I  warned  them.  I'm  afraid  that  if  the  mur- 


THE    MASK    BALL  247 

derers  are  brought  into  camp  I  can't  avert  a  lynching 
bee." 

Pen  shivered.  Sara  grunted.  "You'd  think  Pen 
had  lived  in  a  convent  all  of  her  life  instead  of  a  death 
pen  like  New  York." 

"It's  so  lonesome  out  here,  human  life  means  more 
to  you,"  said  Jim. 

"Some  philosopher  you  are,"  sneered  Sara.  "Fine 
lot  of  drool  you  got  off  at  the  hearing.  Why  didn't 
you  keep  to  the  main  issue  ?  The  yokels  are  still  saying 
with  the  rest  of  us,  He  must  be  dishonest  or  he'd  give 
an  honest  'No'  to  our  accusations." 

Jim  answered  slowly :  "When  a  man  says  that  sort 
of  thing  to  me  I  usually  knock  him  down,  or  complete 
ly  ignore  him." 

"You  can't  knock  us  all  down  and  the  time  is  rap 
idly  coming  when  we  will  be  ignoring  you,  minus  a 
job." 

"Still,"  pleaded  Pen,  "he  couldn't  understand  your 
speech.  Once  and  for  all,  Jim,  give  him  and  all  the 
rest  the  lie." 

Jim  ground  his  teeth  and  did  not  speak.  Sara  was 
obviously  enjoying  himself. 

"You  are  mistaken,  Pen.  Jim  and  I  have  often  dis 
cussed  the  divine  origin  of  the  New  Englander.  They 
are  a  pathetic  lot  of  pifflers.  They  have  no  one  to 
blame  but  themselves  that  they  are  going.  Everywhere 
else  the  Anglo-Saxon  has  gone  he  has  insisted  that  he 
had  the  divine  right  to  rule  and  has  kept  it.  Outsiders 
have  had  to  conform  or  get  out.  But  over  here  he 
promulgated  the  Equality  idea.  Isaac  Gezinsky  and 
Hans  Hoffman  and  Pedro  Patello  are  as  fit  to  rule  ac 
cording  to  the  Equality  idea  as  anyone  else.  It  didn't 


248  STILL    JIM 

take  much  over  two  hundred  years  of  this  to  crowd  the 
New  Englander  out  of  the  running.  And  who  cares?" 

"I  do,"  said  Jim,  "because  I  believe  in  the  things 
my  race  has  stood  for.  Emerson  says  it's  not  chance 
but  race  that  put  and  keeps  the  millions  of  India  under 
the  rule  of  a  remote  island  in  the  north  of  Europe. 
Race  is  a  thing  to  be  reckoned  with.  Nations  progress 
as  their  race  dictates." 

"Emerson!"  jibed  Sara.  "Another  inefficient  high 
brow  !" 

"I  can't  help  believing,"  replied  Jim  doggedly,  "that 
the  world  will  lose  in  the  submerging  of  the  New  Eng 
land  element  in  America." 

"And  yet  right  here,  in  your  America,"  said  Sara, 
"the  leaders  of  the  money  trust  are  descendants  of 
Puritans." 

Jim  winced.  "  'The  strength  of  the  pack  is  the 
wolf/  When  we  produced  men  of  that  type  we  should 
have  recognized  them  and  have  controlled  them.  They 
are  helping  the  pack  down  hill,  all  right.  Be  satisfied, 
Sara!  Only  you  will  not  get  me  off  this  Project  until 
it  is  finished." 

"No?"  sneered  Sara. 

Pen  interrupted  nervously:  "A  couple  of  men  are 
coming  up  the  trail." 

Bill  Underwood  appeared  at  the  tent  door.  Murphy 
was  with  him.  "Boss,"  said  Bill,  "Murphy  has  got 
to  see  your  Greek  friend.  I  got  him  started  south  this 
noon,  but  he  circled  on  me  and  I  just  picked  him  up 
on  the  mesa,  headed  this  way.  He  wanted  to  come 
here  on  the  quiet,  but  I  brought  him  up  in  the  open." 


CHAPTER  XX 
THE  DAY'S  WORK 

"Women  know  a  loyalty  that  men  scorn  while  they 
use  it.    This  is  the  sex  stamp  of  women." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

WITH  a  quick  glance  at  Sara,  Jim  rose.  "Give 
Mr.  Saradokis  and  his  friend  a  chance  to  talk, 
of  course,  Bill.  But  shut  Murphy  up  tonight  and 
bring  him  round  to  me  in  the  morning." 

Bill  essayed  a  salute  that  was  so  curiously  like  bring 
ing  his  thumb  to  his  nose  that  Pen  had  to  turn  a  laugh 
into  a  cough  and  Jim  smiled  as  he  hurried  out  of  the 
tent.  As  soon  as  the  murder  trouble  was  settled,  Jim 
thought,  he  would  have  some  sort  of  a  settlement  with 
Sara.  His  calm  effrontery  was  becoming  unbearable. 

After  a  hurried  supper  Jim  went  back  to  the  lower 
town  to  keep  his  eye  on  the  moving  picture  show.  As 
he  mounted  the  steps  of  the  little  sheet  iron  building, 
a  girlish  figure  hurried  to  meet  him  from  the  shadow 
of  the  ticket  office. 

"Pen!"  cried  Jim.     "This  is  no  place  for  you!" 

"Oh,  lots  of  women  have  gone  in,"  protested  Pen. 
"Please,  Jim!  Sara  was  so  ugly  this  evening  I  just 
walked  out  and  left  him  alone  and  I'm  crazy  to  see 
what  goes  on  down  here." 

249 


250  STILLJIM 

Jim  glanced  in  at  the  open  door.  The  hall  was 
nearly  full.  "If  anything  goes  wrong,  Penny,  I  would 
have  my  hands  full  and  you  might  be  hurt." 

Pen  gave  a  little  shiver  of  anticipation.  "Oh,  please 
let  me  stay,  Still !  Just  think  how  shut  in  I've  been  all 
these  years." 

Even  though  his  common  sense  protested,  Jim  was 
an  easy  victim  to  Pen's  pleading  eyes  and  voice.  He 
led  the  way  into  the  hall.  It  was  an  enthusiastic 
crowd,  that  crunched  peanuts  and  pinons  and  com 
mented  audibly  on  the  pictures.  Pictures  of  city  life 
were  the  most  popular. 

"God!  That's  Fulton  street,  Brooklyn!"  cried  a 
man's  voice  as  a  street  scene  glided  across  the  screen. 
"Wish  I'd  never  left  it." 

"Gee !  Look  at  the  street  car !"  called  another  man. 
"I'd  give  a  year  of  my  life  for  a  trolley  ride." 

"Look  at  them  trees !"  said  someone  as  a  view  of  a 
middle  west  farm  followed.  "Them  are  trees,  boys, 
not  cable  way  towers!  How'd  you  like  to  shake  the 
sand  out  of  your  eyes  and  see  something  green?" 

"What  are  you  peeved  about?"  exclaimed  another 
voice.  "Ain't  you  working  for  our  great  and  glorious 
government  that'll  kick  you  out  like  a  dead  dog  when 
ever  it  wants  to?  Look  what  it's  doing  to  the  Big 
Boss!" 

"Hi !  Man-o'-War  at  San  Diego !"  screamed  a  boy. 
"See  all  that  wet  water !  Me  for  the  navy !  See  how 
pretty  that  sailor  looks  in  his  cute  white  panties!" 

Hartman  held  the  crowd  for  a  good  two  hours,  then 
he  called,  "That's  all,  boys !  Come  again !" 

"All?     Nothing  stirring,"  answered  several  voices. 


THE    DAY'S   WORK  251 

"Begin  over  again,  Hartman.  You  can  collect  another 
nickel  from  us  as  we  go  out." 

There  was  laughter  and  applause  and  not  a  soul 
offered  to  leave.  In  the  darkness  Hartman  was  heard 
to  laugh  in  return  and  shortly  the  first  film  appeared 
again.  Fields  of  corn  shimmered  in  the  wind.  Cows 
grazed  in  quiet  meadows.  The  audience  stared  again, 
breathlessly.  Suddenly  from  without  was  heard  a 
long-drawn  cry.  It  was  like  the  lingering  shriek  of  a 
coyote.  Few  in  the  hall  had  heard  the  call  before,  yet 
no  one  mistook  it  for  anything  but  human. 

"An  Apache  yell !"  exclaimed  an  excited  voice. 

There  was  a  sudden  overturning  of  benches  and 
Pen  and  Jim  were  forced  out  into  the  street  with  the 
crowd. 

An  arc  light  glowed  in  front  of  the  hall.  Under  this 
the  crowd  swayed  for  a  moment,  uncertain  whither 
to  move.  Jim  held  Pen's  arm  and  looked  about 
quickly. 

"I  don't  know  where  you  will  be  safest,  Pen.  I 
wish  I'd  heeded  the  itching  of  my  thumb  and  taken 
you  home  an  hour  ago." 

"Jim,"  said  Pen,  "I  certainly  like  your  parties. 
They  are  full  of  surprises." 

"You  are  a  good  little  sport,"  said  Jim,  "but  that 
doesn't  make  me  less  worried  about  you.  Hang  onto 
my  arm  now  like  a  little  burr." 

He  began  to  work  his  way  through  the  crowd. 
"I  don't  want  to  attract  their  attention,"  he  said. 
"They  will  follow  me  like  sheep." 

"Was  it  an  Apache  cry,  Jim?"  asked  Pen. 

"Yes!  Old  Suma-theek,  with  a  bunch  of  his  In 
dians  has  been  riding  the  upper  mesa  for  me  tonight. 


252  STILL    JIM 

Just  to  watch  Mexico  City.  I  told  him  to  keep  things 
quiet,  so  there  must  have  been  some  imperative  reason 
for  the  cry.  I'll  take  you  to  the  upper  camp  and  get 
my  horse." 

Jim  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as  they  cleared  the 
crowd  and  could  quicken  their  pace.  But  they  were 
scarcely  out  of  the  range  of  the  arc  light  when  a  dark 
group  ran  hurriedly  down  from  the  mesa  back  of  the 
town.  It  was  old  Suma-theek  with  four  of  his  In 
dians.  They  held,  tightly  bound  with  belts  and  ban 
danas,  two  disheveled  little  hombres. 

"Take  'em  to  jail,  Boss?"  panted  Suma-theek.  "I 
find  'em  trying  get  back  to  lower  town!" 

"No !  No !  Back  up  into  the  mountains.  I'll  get 
horses  to  you  and  you  must  take  them  to  Cabillo. 
Lord,  I  forgot  to  warn  you!" 

Suma-theek  turned  quickly  but  not  quickly  enough. 
A  man  ran  up  to  the  little  group  then  plunged  back 
toward  the  hall. 

"A  rope!"  he  yelled.  "Bring  a  rope.  They've  got 
the  two  hombres." 

Men  seemed  to  spring  up  out  of  the  ground. 

"Run,  Pen,  toward  the  upper  camp!"  cried  Jim. 

"I  won't !"  exclaimed  Pen.  "They  won't  shoot  while 
a  woman  is  standing  here." 

She  plunged  away  from  Jim  and  caught  Suma- 
theek's  arm.  The  old  Indian  smiled  and  shoved  her 
behind  him.  Jim  turned  and  stood  shoulder  to  shoul- 
er  with  the  Apache  chief.  "Now  work  back  until 
we're  against  the  power  house  with  the  hombres  back 
of  us,"  he  said. 

By  the  time  the  crowd  was  massed,  yelling  and  ges 
ticulating  on  three  sides  of  it,  the  little  group  was 


THE    DAY'S   WORK  253 

backed  up  against  the  concrete  wall  of  the  little  sub 
station. 

Jim  waved  his  arm.  "Go  home,  boys;  go  home! 
You  can't  do  any  lynching  while  the  Apaches  are 
here!" 

"Give  us  the  hombres,  Boss!"  shouted  a  threaten 
ing  voice,  "or  we'll  have  to  be  rough  on  you." 

"Send  the  lady  home,"  called  someone  else.  "This 
is  no  job  for  a  lady  to  see." 

"Boss,"  said  Suma-theek  in  Jim's  ear,  "you  send 
your  squaw  out.  She  go  up  mountain  back  of  town, 
find  Apache  there,  tell  all  Apaches  bring  guns,  come 
here,  help  take  hombres  to  jail." 

Jim  looked  at  Pen  and  his  face  whitened.  But  Pen's 
nostrils  dilated  and  her  eyes  sparkled.  Pen  was  Irish. 

"I'll  go,"  said  Pen.     "Where  is  Henderson?" 

"He  ought  to  be  back,"  said  Jim.  "Try  to  find  him 
after  you  get  the  Apaches.  Send  anybody  down  you 
can  reach."  Then  he  shouted  to  the  crowd,  "Let  the 
lady  out!" 

Jim  and  Suma-theek  stood  well  above  most  of  the 
mob.  Jim  was  unarmed  and  the  crowd  knew  it.  But 
even  had  any  man  there  been  inclined  to  prevent  Pen's 
exit  he  would  rather  have  done  so  under  a  cocked  gun 
than  under  the  look  in  Jim's  white  face  as  he  watched 
Pen's  progress  through  the  crowd.  The  men  gave 
back  respectfully.  As  soon  as  she  was  free  of  the 
crowd,  Pen  broke  into  a  run.  She  darted  back  behind 
the  line  of  tents  up  onto  the  mountainside. 

There  for  an  instant  she  paused  and  looked  back. 
The  five  Indians  were  as  motionless  as  the  crouch 
ing  black  heaps  they  guarded.  They  held  their  guns 
in  the  hollow  of  their  arms,  while  Jim,  with  raised 


254  STILLJIM 

arm,  was  speaking.  Pen  sobbed  in  her  excitement.  If 
Uncle  Denny  could  see  his  boy ! 

She  turned  and  ran  up  the  trail  like  a  little  rabbit. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  never  would  reach  the  top. 
The  camp  sounds  were  faint  and  far  before  she 
reached  the  upper  mesa  and  saw  dimly  a  figure  on  a 
horse.  It  was  an  Indian  who  covered  her  with  a  gun 
as  she  panted  up  to  him. 

"Suma-theek  and  the  Big  Boss  say  for  you  to  call 
in  all  the  other  Indians  and  come  help  them  at  the 
little  power  house.  The  whites  are  trying  to  lynch  the 
hombres." 

The  Indian  peered  down  into  her  face  and  grunted 
as  he  recognized  her.  Then  he  suddenly  stood  in  his 
stirrups  and  raised  the  fearful  cry  that  had  emptied 
the  moving  picture  hall. 

"Ke-theek !  Ke-theek !  Ke-theek !  ( To  me !  To 
me!  Tome!)" 

Pen  stood  by  the  pony's  head,  trembling  yet  exul 
tant.  This,  then,  she  thought  was  the  life  men  knew. 
No  wonder  Jim  loved  his  job ! 

Up  on  the  mesa  top,  the  night  wind  rushed  against 
the  encircling  stars.  The  Indian  chuckled. 

"Mexicans,  they  no  bother  whites  tonight.  They 
know  Apache  call,  it  heap  devil." 

The  sound  of  hoofs  began  to  beat  in  about  the 
waiting  two.  "You  go,"  said  the  Indian.  "Back 
along  upper  trail,  it  safe." 

Pen  started  on  a  run  toward  the  upper  camp. 

The  surging  crowd  round  Jim  and  the  Indians  heard 
the  wild  cry  from  the  mesa  top  and  the  shouts  and 
threats  were  stilled  as  if  by  magic.  There  was  a  mo 
ment  of  restless  silence.  That  cry  was  a  primordial 


THE    DAY'S    WORK  255 

thing,  as  well  understood  by  every  man  in  the  mob 
as  if  he  had  heard  it  always.  It  was  the  cry  of  the 
hunted  and  the  hunter.  It  was  the  night  cry  of  for 
ests.  It  was  war  with  naked  hands,  death  under  lonely 
skies. 

Jim  called :  "Some  one  is  bound  to  get  killed  if  you 
boys  don't  clear  out.  I'm  not  armed  but  a  number  of 
you  are  and  the  Indians  are.  If  there  are  any  of  my 
Makon  boys  here,  I  want  them  to  come  over  here  and 
help  me."' 

"Coming,  Boss !"  called  a  voice.  "Only  a  few  of  the 
best  of  us  here." 

"You'll  stay  where  you  are,"  roared  a  big  Irishman. 

"Rush  'em,  boys!  Rush  'em!  They  don't  dare  to 
shoot!" 

Old  Suma-theek  absent-mindedly  sighted  his  gun  in 
the  direction  of  the  last  remark. 

"Get  a  ladder!  Get  on  top  of  the  station.  Alto 
gether,  boys !" 

Fighting  through  the  mob,  half  a  dozen  men  sud 
denly  ranged  themselves  with  the  Indians. 

"Come  into  us !"  one  of  them  shrieked.  "I  ain't  had 
a  fight  since  I  killed  six  Irishmen  on  the  Makon  and 
ate  'em  for  breakfast." 

There  was  a  swaying,  a  sudden  closing  of  the  crowd, 
when  down  from  the  mesa  rushed  old  Suma-theek's 
bucks.  They  swept  the  mob  aside  like  flying  sand  and 
closed  about  the  little  group  against  the  wall.  They 
were  a  very  splendid  picture  in  the  arc  light,  these 
forty  young  bucks  with  their  flying  hair  and  plunging 
ponies.  The  moment  must  have  been  one  of  un 
mixed  joy  to  them  as  the  whites  gave  back,  leaving 
them  the  street  width. 


256  STILL    JIM 

Jack  Henderson  rushed  up  in  Jim's  automobile  just 
as  the  street  cleared.  Jim  hurried  to  the  machine. 
"Jack,  did  you  see  Mrs.  Saradokis?" 

"Took  her  home  in  the  machine.  Had  to  argue 
with  her  to  make  her  go.  That's  why  I'm  late.  Just 
got  back  from  delivering  the  committee." 

The  color  came  back  under  Jim's  tan.  "Get  up  to 
the  wall  there,  Jack,  with  the  machine  and  put  the 
two  hombres  into  the  tonneau  with  two  Indians  and 
Suma-theek  in  front.  The  mounted  Indians  will  act 
as  your  guard  for  a  few  miles  out.  Hit  the  high 
places  to  Cabillo.  I  guess  you'd  better  keep  the  guard 
all  the  way.  I  wouldn't  like  you  to  meet  a  posse  with 
out  one/' 

Jack  nodded  and  began  to  work  his  way  among 
the  ponies.  In  a  moment's  time  the  touring  car,  with 
the  cowering  human  bundles  in  the  tonneau,  had 
crossed  the  river.  The  crowd  disappeared  rather  pre 
cipitately  into  the  tents,  no  one  courting  conversation 
with  Jim.  He  walked  quietly  up  the  road  home. 

Early  the  next  morning,  Billy  Underwood  brought 
Murphy  up  to  Jim's  house. 

"Sorry  my  posse  didn't  get  there  in  time  to  help  you 
out,  Boss,"  said  Bill  regretfully.  "We  didn't  hear  of 
it  till  it  was  all  over." 

Jim  nodded.  "Keep  up  your  quarantine  for  a  while, 
Bill.  We  won't  risk  booze  for  several  days.  Now, 
Murphy,  who  backed  you  in  the  saloon  business?" 

"Fleckenstein's  crowd." 

"How  long  have  you  known  Mr.  Saradokis?" 

"Met  him  for  the  first  time  last  night,"  replied  the 
ex-saloonkeeper. 

Jim  eyed  the  man  skeptically  and  Murphy  spoke 


THE    DAY'S    WORK  257 

with  sudden  heat.  "That's  on  the  level.  I  heard  he 
was  backing  Fleckenstein  and  so  I  thought  he'd  help 
me  get  back  at  you.  But  he  cursed  me  as  I'll  stand 
from  no  man  because  Underwood  made  a  monkey  of 
me  by  lugging  me  up  there  before  you.  No  wonder 
his  wife  left  the  tent  before  he  began,  if  that's  his 
usual  style.  I'll  get  even  with  that  dirty  Greek." 

Bill  nodded.  "Boss,  that  friend  of  yours  has  a  vo 
cabulary  that'd  turn  a  mule  into  a  race  horse." 

"Murphy,"  said  Jim,  "you  are  Irish.  My  step 
father  is  an  Irishman.  He  is  the  whitest  gentleman 
that  ever  lived.  It's  hard  for  me  to  realize  after  know 
ing  him  that  an  Irishman  can  be  doing  the  dirty  work 
you  are.  But  I  suppose  Ireland  must  breed  men  like 
you  or  Tammany  would  die." 

Murphy  hitched  from  one  foot  to  the  other.  Jim 
went  on  in  his  quiet,  slow  way. 

"I  suppose  you  know  pretty  well  what  I'm  up  against 
on  this  Project.  What  would  you  do  with  Murphy  if 
you  were  Manning?" 

"I'd  beat  three  pounds  of  dog  meat  off  his  face,"  re 
plied  Murphy,  succinctly. 

Jim  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "That  would  do 
neither  of  us  any  good.  If  I  let  you  go,  Murphy,  will 
you  give  me  your  word  of  honor  to  let  the  Project  ab 
solutely  alone  ?" 

The  Irishman  gave  Jim  a  quick  look.  "And  would 
you  take  my  word  ?" 

"Not  as  a  saloonkeeper,  but  as  Irish,  I  would." 

Murphy  drew  a  long  breath.  "Thank  you,  Mr. 
Manning.  I'll  get  off  the  Project  if  you  say  so.  But 
I  think  you'd  be  wiser  to  give  me  a  job  below  on  the 
diversion  dam  where  I  can  keep  track  of  Fleckenstein 


258  STILL   JIM 

and  his  crowd  for  you.  I'll  show  you  what  it  means 
to  trust  an  Irishman,  sir." 

Jim  suddenly  flashed  his  wistful  smile.  "I  knew 
you  had  the  makings  of  a  friend  in  you  as  soon  as  I 
saw  how  you  took  the  cleaning  up  I  gave  you  yester 
day.  I'll  give  you  a  note  to  my  irrigation  engineer. 
He  needs  a  good  man." 

Bill  and  Murphy  went  out  the  door  together.  "I'll 
bet  you  the  drinks,  Bill,"  said  Murphy,  "that  he  never 
made  you  his  friend." 

"I  ain't  drinking.  I'm  his  trusted  officer,"  said  Bill. 
"Get  me  ?  If  you  try  any  tricks  on  him " 

Bill  stopped  abruptly,  for  Murphy's  fist  was  under 
his  nose.  "Did  you  hear  him  take  my  word  like  a 
gentleman?"  he  shouted.  "I'd  rather  be  dead  than 
double  cross  him !" 

"Aw,  go  on  down  to  the  diversion  dam,"  said  Bill, 
irritably.  "I've  got  no  time  to  listen  to  your  talk. 
You  heard  him  tell  me  to  guard  the  place!" 

A  part  of  Jim's  day's  work,  after  his  letters  were 
answered  and  written  in  the  morning,  was  to  tramp 
over  every  portion  of  the  job.  The  quarry,  in  the 
mountain  to  the  north  of  the  dam  whence  were  being 
taken  the  giant  rock  for  embedding  in  the  concrete  was 
his  first  care.  The  stone  must  be  of  the  right  quality 
and  of  proper  weight  and  contour  to  bind  well  with 
the  cement.  The  quarrying  itself  must  be  going  for 
ward  rapidly  and  without  waste.  Then  came  the  giant 
sand  dump,  where  the  dinkies  had  filled  a  canyon  with 
the  sand  from  the  river  bed.  This  was  the  supply  that 
fed  the  always  hungry  mixer.  After  this  the  ware 
house  and  the  power  house,  the  laboratories  and  the 
concrete  mixer,  the  cableway  towers  and  the  super- 


THE    DAY'S    WORK  259 

mtendent's  office,  with  all  the  thousand  and  one  de 
tails,  expected  and  unexpected,  that  made  or  marred 
the  success  of  the  dam,  must  be  looked  over.  The 
last  visit  was  always  at  the  dam  itself,  where  Jim 
spent  most  of  the  day. 

On  the  afternoon  after  Jim  had  hired  Murphy  he 
stood  on  the  section  of  the  dam  which  now  showed  no 
signs  of  old  Jezebel's  strenuous  visit.  Jim  was  watch 
ing  the  job  with  his  outer  mind,  while  with  his  inner 
mind  he  turned  over  and  over  the  things  that  Pen  had 
said  to  him  the  night  before  the  mask  ball.  Even 
in  the  excitement  that  followed  the  ball,  Pen's  sc"old- 
ing,  as  he  called  it,  had  never  been  entirely  out  of  his 
thoughts.  In  spite  of  their  sting,  Jim  realized  that 
Pen's  words  had  cleared  his  vision,  had  given  him  a 
sense  of  content  that  was  comparable  only  to  the  feel 
ing  he  had  had  on  the  night  so  many  years  ago  that 
he  had  discovered  his  profession. 

To  find  that  the  cause  of  his  failure  lay  in  himself 
and  not  in  intangible  forces  without  that  he  could  not 
combat  was  strangely  enough  a  very  real  relief.  For 
Jim  was  taking  Pen's  review  of  his  weaknesses  as  es 
sential  truth ! 

Suddenly,  with  his  eyes  fastened  critically  on  a  great 
stone  block  that  was  being  carefully  bedded  on  the  sec 
tion,  he  laughed  aloud  and  whispered  to  himself : 

"I  feel  just  the  way  I  used  to  when  I  got  mad  be 
cause  I  couldn't  get  compound  interest  and  Dad 
straightened  me  out,  giving  me  a  good  calling  down 
as  he  did  so.  Pen !  Pen !  My  dearest !" 

Oscar  Ames,  picking  his  way  carefully  among  the 
derricks  and  stone  blocks,  grunted  when  he  saw  the 


260  STILL   JIM 

smile  on  Jim's  face.    Jim  did  not  cease  to  smile  when 
he  saw  Oscar. 

"Come  up  here,  Ames !  I  want  your  advice !" 
Oscar  grunted  again,  but  this  time  as  if  someone 
had  knocked  his  breath  out  of  him.  He  paused,  then 
came  on  up  to  where  Jim  was  standing.  Men  were 
busy  preparing  the  surface  on  which  they  stood  for  the 
next  pouring.  In  the  excavation  below,  the  channel 
ing  machine  was  gouging  out  a  trench  for  the  heel 
of  the  dam.  Pumps  \vere  working  steadily,  drawing 
seepage  water  from  the  excavation.  Men  swarmed 
everywhere,  on  derricks,  on  engines,  with  guide  ropes 
for  cableway  loads,  scouring  and  chipping  rock  and 
concrete  surfaces,  ramming  and  bolting  forms  into 
place,  shifting  motors,  always  hurrying  yet  always 
giving  a  sense  of  direction  and  purpose. 

"She's  coming  along,  Oscar,"  said  Jim. 

Oscar  nodded.  Something  in  Jim's  tone  made  his 
own  less  pugnacious  than  usual  as  he  said : 

"What  you  using  sand-cement  for  instead  of  the 
real  stuff?" 

"It's  stronger,"  said  Jim.  "A  very  remarkable 
thing!  We've  been  testing  that  out  five  or  six  years." 

Jim's  tone  was  very  amiable.  Oscar  looked  at  him 
suspiciously  and  Jim  laughed.  "Thought  we  were 
working  some  kind  of  a  cement  graft?"  Jim  asked. 

"Well,  that's  the  common  report!" 

"Oh,  for  heaven's  sake,  Oscar !"  exclaimed  Jim  dis 
gustedly. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Ames  doggedly,  "just  why  should 
sand-cement  be  stronger  than  the  pure  Portland  ?" 

Jim  scowled,  started  to  speak  with  his  old  impa 
tience,  then  changed  his  mind. 


THE    DAY'S    WORK  261 

"You  come  up  to  the  laboratory  with  me,  Oscar. 
I'll  give  you  a  lesson  on  cement  that  will  put  a  stop 
to  this  gossip  at  once.  A  man  of  your  experience 
ought  to  know  better." 

Conflicting  emotions  showed  in  Oscar's  face,  boyish 
despite  his  fifty  years.  This  was  the  first  time  Jim 
had  used  the  man  to  man  tone  with  Ames.  He  cleared 
his  throat  and  followed  the  Big  Boss  up  the  trail  to 
the  little  adobe  laboratory.  The  young  cement  engi 
neer  looked  curiously  at  Jim's  companion. 

"Mr.  Field,"  said  Jim,  "this  is  Mr.  Ames.  He  is 
one  of  the  most  influential  men  in  the  valley.  He  is 
giving  practically  all  of  his  time  to  watching  our  work 
up  here.  He  tells  me  the  farmers  feel  that  sand- 
cement  isn't  good.  We  will  put  in  an  hour  showing 
Mr.  Ames  our  tests  and  their  results  for  the  last  five 
years,  both  here  and  on  the  Makon." 

Field  did  not  show  his  surprise  at  Jim's  about-face. 
But  he  did  say  to  himself  as  he  went  into  the  back 
room  for  his  old  reports,  "Evidently  the  farmer  is 
no  longer  to  be  told  to  go  to  Hades  when  he  kicks. 
I  wonder  what's  happened." 

An  hour  later  Jim  and  Oscar  walked  slowly  up  the 
trail  toward  Jim's  house.  Jim  had  invited  Ames  up 
for  a  further  talk.  Oscar  had  shown  a  remarkable 
aptitude  for  the  details  that  Jim  and  Field  had  ex 
plained.  And  his  pleasure  at  finally  understanding 
the  whole  idea  upon  which  Jim  was  basing  his  con 
crete  work  was  such  that  Jim  felt  a  very  real  re 
morse.  He  recalled  almost  daily  questions  from  Oscar 
and  other  farmers  that  he  had  answered  with  a  short 
ness  that  was  often  contemptuous. 

"Now  you  see,"  Oscar  said  as  they  entered  the  cot- 


262  STILLJIM 

tage,  "we'll  actually  save  money  on  that.  Wonderful 
thing,  Mr.  Manning,  how  mixing  the  sand  and  cement 
intimately  enough,  as  you  say,  turns  the  trick.  I'll 
tell  the  bunch  down  at  Cabillo  about  that  tomorrow." 

Jim  shoved  a  box  of  cigars  at  Oscar  and  surveyed 
him  with  his  wistful  smile.  There  were  dark  circles 
round  Jim's  eyes  that  in  his  childhood  had  told  of 
nerve  strain.  Jim  at  that  moment  wondered  what 
Iron  Skull  would  have  made  of  the  present  situation. 
He  was  silent  so  long  that  Oscar  spoke  a  little  impa 
tiently  : 

"If  you  ain't  going  to  talk,  Mr.  Manning,  Jane  is 
waiting  for  me  and  I  got  to  see  Mr.  Sardox  yet." 

Jim  pulled  himself  together,  and,  a  little  diffidently, 
handed  Ames  the  Secretary's  letter  with  the  copy  of 
his  own. 

"Tell  me  what  you  think  of  these,"  said  Jim. 

Oscar  read  the  two  letters  carefully,  then  said :  "I'd 
think  more  of  'em  if  I  had  any  idea  what  either  of 
you  was  driving  at." 

"It  means  just  this,"  said  Jim,  "that  unless  the  engi 
neers  and  the  farmers  work  together,  the  Reclamation 
Service  will  get  what  the  water  power  trust  is  trying 
to  give  it,  and  that  is,  oblivion." 

"Aha,"  said  Oscar,  "that's  why  you've  been  so 
decent  to  me  today?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Jim  simply. 

Oscar's  look  of  suspicion  returned.  Jim  went  on 
slowly  and  carefully.  "It  will  be  bad  business  if  the 
Service  fails.  It  will  retard  the  government  control 
of  water  power  greatly,  and  there  is  enough  possible 
water  power  in  this  country,  Oscar,  to  turn  every 
wheel  in  it  and  to  heat  and  light  every  home  in  the 


THE    DAY'S    WORK  263 

land.  If  the  Service  fails  it  will  show  just  one  thing; 
that  the  farmers  and  engineers  on  the  Projects  are 
too  selfish  to  get  together  for  the  country's  good,  that 
the  farmer  is  a  stupid  cat's  paw  for  the  money  inter 
ests  and  the  engineer  a  spineless  fool  who  won't 


"Look  here,  Manning,"  cried  Oscar,  "don't  you 
think  I'm  justified  in  thinking  about  nothing  but  my 
own  ranch,  considering  what  it's  cost  me?" 

"Don't  you  think,"  Jim  returned,  "that  I'm  justified 
in  thinking  about  nothing  but  my  dam  and  in  letting 
the  water  power  trust  eat  it  and  you  up,  considering 
how  hard  I  work  on  the  building  itself?" 

Oscar  stared  and  chewed  his  cigar  and  Jim  smoked 
in  silence  for  a  moment 

"Ames,"  he  said  finally,  "I  wonder  if  you  will  get 
this  idea  as  quickly  as  you  did  the  sand-cement  one. 
America  isn't  like  England  or  Germany  or  France. 
Over  there  the  citizens  of  each  country  are  practically 
of  one  race.  Fundamentally,  they  think  about  the 
same  way  and  want  the  same  things.  If  one  man  or 
many  neglect  public  duties  it  makes  no  permanent  dif 
ference.  Someone  else  will  take  up  the  duty  some 
time,  and  in  just  about  the  same  way  that  the  negli 
gent  man  would  have  done.  But  in  America  we  have 
become  a  hodge-podge  of  every  race.  We  have  no 
national  ideals.  You  can't  tell  me  now  of  a  single 
national  ideal  you  and  I  are  working  for  or  even 
thinking  about.  You  can't  tell  me  what  an  American 
is,  or  I  you.  Get  me?" 

Oscar  nodded,  his  tanned  face  keen  with  interest. 

"Now  the  time  has  come  when  if  you  or  I  want 
any  particular  one  of  the  old  New  England  ideals  to 


264  STILLJIM 

live  in  this  country  we  have  got  to  fight  for  it,  start 
an  educational  campaign  for  it.  If  we  don't,  the 
Russian  Jews  or  the  Italians  or  the  Syrians  will  change 
things  to  suit  their  own  ideals.  Now  they  may  be  all 
right.  Their  ideals  may  be  as  good  as  mine.  They 
have  every  right  to  be  here  and  to  rule  if  they  can. 
But  I  don't  like  the  kind  of  government  they  stood 
for  in  their  native  countries. 

"I'm  a  pig-headed  Anglo-Saxon,  full  of  an  egotism 
that  dies  hard.  I  believe  that  the  Reclamation  Service 
idea  is  an  outgrowth  of  the  fine  democracy  that  our 
fathers  brought  to  New  England.  I  believe  that  the 
folks  that  are  going  to  inherit  America  can't  afford 
to  lose  the  idea  of  the  Service  and  I'm  going  to  fight 
for  it  now  till  they  get  me.  Am  I  clear?" 

"Sure,"  said  Oscar.  "Ain't  I  of  Puritan  stock  my 
self?" 

"That's  why  I'm  talking  to  you,"  said  Jim.  "Now 
I  take  the  central  idea  of  the  United  States  Reclama 
tion  Service  to  be  this.  It  is  a  return  to  the  old  prin 
ciple  of  the  people  governing  themselves  directly,  of 
their  assuming  individual  responsibility  for  the  details 
and  cost  of  governing.  It  is  the  fine  outgrowth  of 
the  industrial  lessons  we  have  learned  in  the  past 
years,  combined  with  the  town  meeting  idea,  brought 
up  to  date. 

"One  central  organization  can  do  work  better  and 
cheaper,  if  it  will,  than  a  dozen  competing  interests. 
If  the  central  organization  is  privately  owned  it  de 
mands  a  heavy  profit.  But  if  it  is  owned  by  the  gov 
ernment  it  takes  no  profit.  On  a  Project,  free  indi 
viduals  voluntarily  combine  to  do  business  and  to 
directly  administer  the  products  of  that  business  to 


THE    DAY'S    WORK  265 

themselves.     The   Service  is  merely  the  tool  of  the 
people  on  the  Projects. 

' 'Oscar,  it's  up  to  you  and  me.  In  antagonizing  you 
farmers,  I've  opened  the  way  for  the  enemies  of  the 
Service  to  reach  you.  And  you,  in  being  reached,  are 
endangering  the  Service.  Is  it  true  that  you  are  going 
to  help  Saradokis  and  Fleckenstein  get  your  honest 
debts  repudiated?" 

The  two  men  sat  and  stared  at  each  other,  Oscar 
with  his  years  of  unutterable  labor  behind  him,  his 
traditions  that  dealt  with  a  constant  hand-to-hand 
struggle  with  nature  for  his  own  existence ;  Jim  with 
his  long  years  of  dreaming  behind  him  and  his  awak 
ening  vision  of  social  responsibility  before  him.  Engi 
neer  and  desert  farmer,  they  were  of  widely  differing 
characteristics,  yet  they  had  one  fundamental  quality 
in  common.  They  both  were  producers.  They  were 
not  little  men.  There  was  nothing  parasitic  in  their « 
outlook.  They  had  always  dealt  with  fundamental, 
primitive  forces. 

Suddenly  Oscar  leaned  forward.  "Are  you  trying 
to  string  me  into  saying  the  increased  cost  of  the  dam 
is  all  right?" 

Jim  tapped  on  the  table.  "Not  five  per  cent,  of  the 
increased  cost  but  comes  from  the  improvements  you 
farmers  have  asked  for.  And  not  one  cent  of  the 
cost  of  the  entire  Project  but  will  be  paid  for  by  the 
water  power  produced  and  sold.  You  know  that, 
Ames.  Now  pay  attention." 

Jim  shook  his  finger  in  Oscar's  face  and  said  slowly 
and  incisively: 

"You  farmers  will  never  repudiate  your  honorable 
debts  while  I  can  fight.  You  are  going  to  fight  with 


266  STILL   JIM 

me,  Ames,  to  help  me  save  the  Service.  You  are  going 
to  put  your  shoulder  to  mine  and  fight  as  you  did  when 
the  old  dam  was  going  out  under  your  feet !  Do  you 
get  that?" 

Oscar  opened  his  mouth  but  no  words  came.  Then 
both  men  jumped  to  their  feet  as  Mrs.  Ames'  gentle 
voice  said  from  the  kitchen  door: 

"Oscar  will  fight,  or  I'll  leave  him." 


CHAPTER    XXI 

JIM    GETS   A    BLOW 

"The  eagle  has  lived  long  in  my  side.  He  is  cruel 
with  talons  built  for  seizing.  Is  this  why  so  many  na 
tions  choose  him  as  their  emblem?" 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

JANE  never  had  looked  meeker  or  smaller  or  more 
desert  worn  than  she  did  as  she  stood  eying  the 
two  men;  that  is,  meek  except  as  to  her  eyes.  These 
burned  like  sapphires  in  the  sun.  In  them  was  con 
centrated  the  deathless  energy  that  Penelope  had  found 
was  Jane's  chief  characteristic. 

"I've  been  sitting  in  the  kitchen  waiting  for  Mrs. 
Flynn  and  listening  to  you  two  talk.  It  was  very  in 
teresting." 

"Jane,  you  keep  quiet,"  said  Oscar. 

"Come  in  and  sit  down,  Mrs.  Ames,"  said  Jim,  pull 
ing  forward  a  chair. 

"Don't  be  too  polite  to  me,  Mr.  Manning,"  said 
Jane.  "I  ain't  used  to  it  and  it  makes  me  nervous. 
I  made  up  my  mind  while  I  heard  you  talk  I'd  get  a 
few  things  off  my  chest.  It  may  help  both  of  you. 
I've  often  said,  when  Oscar  was  always  telling  me  to 
keep  quiet,  that  when  I  had  something  to  say  I'd 
say  it." 

267 


268  STILLJIM 

Oscar  looked  very  much  mortified.  "Jane,"  he  said, 
"what's  got  into  you?" 

"Well,  it  isn't  your  politeness,  that's  sure.  Funny 
now,  that  Mrs.  Penelope  and  I  both  have  nice  manners 
while  her  husband  and  mine  are  both  pigs  as  far  as 
their  ways  to  us  go.  There  isn't  a  more  popular  man 
in  the  country  than  Oscar,  but  he  keeps  his  popular 
ways  all  outside  his  own  home." 

Oscar  and  Jim  looked  at  each  other  and  waited. 
They  both  realized  that  the  eruption  was  inevitable. 

"Women  are  awful  fools.  Until  I  had  running 
water  put  in  against  Oscar's  wishes  I  lugged  as  many 
as  thirty  buckets  of  water  a  day  for  thirty  years.  I've 
carried  water  and  I've  chopped  wood  and  I've  had 
babies  and  I've  come  at  your  bidding,  Oscar,  but  now, 
I'm  going  to  complain.  And  it's  not  about  my  life 
either. 

"I  used  to  feel  sorry  for  myself  until  I  got  to  know 
Mrs.  Pen.  She  has  real  trouble,  but  instead  of  get 
ting  peevish  as  I  have  over  just  Oscar's  selfishness, 
she's  let  it  make  her  see  the  world  instead  of  herself. 
She  has  a  sort  of  calm  outlook  on  life.  She  has  told 
me  a  dozen  times  that  she  looks  at  life  as  a  great 
game  and  trouble  as  one  of  the  hazards.  That's  golf 
talk.  She  says  the  only  real  sport  to  be  got  out  of 
the  game  is  to  play  it  according  to  rule.  And  she  says 
marriage  seems  to  be  one  of  the  rules.  Think  of  hav 
ing  the  courage  to  talk  that  way  about  marriage! 
She's  better  than  a  book." 

Mrs.  Ames  chuckled  reminiscently.  Then  stared  out 
at  the  desert  and  her  lips  moved  in  silence  as  if  she 
found  it  hard  to  frame  her  next  sentence. 

"We've  talked  a  lot  about  the  Project,  she  and  I. 


JIM    GETS    A    BLOW  269 

At  first  I  was  like  Oscar,  all  for  being  afraid  our 
ranch  wasn't  going  to  get  as  much  and  a  little  more 
than  anyone  else's.  Then  after  she  kept  talking  about 
it,  all  of  a  sudden  I  saw  that  I  wasn't  Jane  Ames  at 
all,  drudging  out  my  life  in  the  sand.  I'm  a  human 
being,  struggling  along  with  other  human  beings  to 
make  a  living  and  be  happy.  And  then  I  got  the 
feeling  that  I  wanted  to  help  to  make  this  whole 
Project  the  finest  place  on  earth  not  only  for  myself 
but  for  everyone  else. 

"And  then,  just  as  I  get  started  on  something  that's 
giving  me  my  first  chance  since  I  was  married  to  mix 
with  people  and  do  some  real  big  work  in  the  world, 
I  find  out  that  Oscar  is  getting  all  mixed  up  in  deals 
that'll  ruin  Mr.  Manning  and  the  whole  Project  as 
far  as  our  owning  it  goes." 

"Jane!"  shouted  Oscar. 

"Yes,  Jane!"  replied  Mrs.  Ames.  "If  you  think 
I'm  going  to  stand  that  kind  of  disgrace,  if  you  think 
I'm  going  to  keep  quiet  while  my  babies'  father  is  a 
cat's  paw  for  fellows  like  that  Greek  and  Freet,  you 
are  mistaken.  And  I'm  not  going  to  shilly-shally 
about  it.  Oscar,  you  are  going  to  begin  right  now 
fighting  with  Mr.  Manning  for  the  Project  or  I'll 
leave  you." 

Oscar  jumped  to  his  feet.  "For  the  Lord's  sake, 
Jane,  don't  talk  that  way !  How  did  I  know  how  you 
felt?  You  never  talk  to  me.".  Ames  forgot  Jim.  He 
laid  a  knotted  hand  on  Jane's  shoulder.  "Why,  Jane, 
I've  often  thought  if  anything  happened  to  you,  I'd 
kill  myself.  I  didn't  have  time  to  run  in  and  tell  you 
that  every  fifteen  minutes.  But  I'll  do  it,  now,  by  heck, 


270  STILL   JIM 

if  you  want  me  to!  You  don't  understand  about  me 
and  Mr.  Sardox,  though." 

Jane's  burning  eyes  did  not  leave  Oscar's  face. 
"Oscar,  you  choose  right  now  between  the  Freet 
crowd,  and  Mr.  Manning  and  me." 

There  was  that  in  Jane's  eyes  which  caused  Oscar 
to  pale  under  his  tan.  "All  right,  Jane!  All  right! 
When  you  put  it  that  way  there  is  just  one  thing  for 
me  to  do.  I'll  quit  them." 

Jane  suddenly  turned,  and  bowing  her  head  against 
Oscar's  arm  she  began  to  sob.  "It  would  have  torn 
my  heart  strings  out  to  have  left  you,  Oscar." 

Jim  watched  the  two  with  eyes  that  saw  none  too 
clearly. 

Oscar  smoothed  Jane's  hair  and  shook  his  head. 
"No  use  to  tell  a  woman  a  secret.  Jane,  you  went 
and  told  Mrs.  Penelope  about  Freet,  didn't  you?" 

Mrs.  Ames  wiped  her  eyes.  "You  told  her  your 
self.  You  talked  to  the  wrong  flower  girl  at  the  ball. 
She  came  to  me  about  it  the  first  thing  when  she  saw 
me  today." 

"Shucks!"  said  Oscar. 

"How  did  you  get  in  touch  with  Freet,  Oscar?" 
asked  Jim. 

"Aw,  I'll  help  you,  Mr.  Manning,  but  I  won't  tell 
you  other  people's  business." 

"All  right,  Oscar.  It  may  interest  you  to  know 
that  I  had  received  a  note  this  morning  from  Freet 
saying  he  was  coming  down  here  to  see  me  on  busi 
ness." 

Oscar  flushed.  "Come  on,  Jane,  let's  be  going.  I'm 
much  obliged  to  you  for  the  cement  talk.  Why  didn't 
you  help  me  that  way  before,  Mr.  Manning?" 


JIM    GETS    A    BLOW  271 

Jim  laughed.  "I  didn't  know  enough  to,  Oscar. 
To  tell  the  truth,  a  lady  has  been  after  me,  too!" 

"Mrs.  Pen!"  exclaimed  Jane. 

Jim  nodded  comically  and  Oscar  with  a  sudden 
roar  of  laughter  shook  hands  with  Jim.  "And  women 
think  they  need  the  vote!"  he  said,  leading  Jane  out 
the  door. 

That  evening  just  as  Jim  was  finishing  his  supper 
Pen  walked  into  the  living  room.  "Jim,"  she  said, 
"did  you  know  that  Mr.  Freet  was  coming?" 

Jim  pulled  out  a  chair  for  Pen  but  she  shook  her 
head.  "Yes,  I  had  a  letter  from  him.  He  wants  to 
see  my  sand-cement  work  and  one  or  two  other  new 
stunts  I'm  trying  out." 

Pen  moistened  her  lips.  "Jim,  he's  up  at  our  tent 
now,  talking  with  Sara.  They  say  nothing  before  me, 
but — Still,  I'm  going  to  take  Sara  back  to  New  York 
at  once." 

"We'll  see  what  I  can  do  first,"  said  Jim.  "I'll  go 
up  there  now."  He  picked  up  his  hat,  then  paused. 
"Pen,  I  haven't  told  you  how  much  your  talk  the  other 
night  has  done  for  me,  or  how — how  I  thank  you 
for  staying  on  here  to  help  me  after — after  Wind 
Ridge.  It  is— I •" 

"Jane  told  me  about  your  talk  with  Oscar  this 
afternoon.  O  Still,  I'm  so  proud  and  so  glad!" 

Jim  looked  at  Pen's  glowing  cheeks  and  at  her 
parted  scarlet  lips.  "Pen,"  he  said  suddenly,  "I'm 
going  to  have  Henderson  give  more  mask  balls.  You 
are  years  younger  since  having  a  good  dance,  and  it 
looks  as  if  a  dance  will  be  the  only  chance  I'll  ever 
have  to  hug  you  for  all  the  dear  things  you  do  for 
me!" 


272  STILL    JIM 

Then  he  fled  out  the  door  before  Pen  could  answer. 
He  walked  in  at  the  open  door  of  the  tent. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Freet,"  he  said. 

Arthur  Freet  rose  nonchalantly.  "Hello,  Manning ! 
Pleasure  before  duty.  I  had  to  get  Saradokis'  report 
on  my  New  York  deals  before  I  came  to  see  you." 

"Oh,  come  across,  Mr.  Freet !"  said  Jim  quietly.  "I 
know  about  what  you  want  and  you'll  have  to  approach 
me  sooner  or  later,  so  let's  get  done  with  it." 

Freet  smiled  broadly.  "I  always  knew  you'd  come 
to  your  senses,  Manning,  if  we  gave  you  time.  Well, 
our  friend  Saradokis  is  in  touch  with  the  New  York 
office  of  the  Transcontinental  Water  Power  Company. 
They  have  a  very  tempting  proposition  to  make  to  the 
farmers.  They  stand  ready  to  outbid  any  competitor 
for  the  power  you  will  develop  on  the  Project." 

"We'll  let  'em  bid,  sure,"  replied  Jim  calmly.  "I 
shall  advertise  for  bids  as  soon  as  I  am  ready." 

"That  won't  do,"  said  Freet.  "The  only  way  to 
get  away  with  this  is  to  do  it  quietly.  Hold  the  public 
off  till  the  contract  is  signed." 

Jim  grunted.  Sara  eyed  him  without  comment. 
Oscar  spoke  suddenly.  "Now  look  here,  Mr.  Man 
ning,  I  ain't  as  sore  at  you  as  I  was.  I  guess,  after 
our  talk  this  afternoon,  you  think  you're  doing  what's 
best  for  the  valley.  But  you  want  to  be  fair  about 
this.  It  may  not  look  quite  right,  but  it's  the  best 
thing  for  the  farmers.  We  want  to  get  all  the  money 
we  can  out  of  the  power.  You  say  yourself  that's 
what  will  pay  for  the  dam.  And  if  these  folks  will 
give  us  twice  what  anyone  else  will,  I  say  close  the 
deal  with  them,  any  way  you  can." 

"What's  your  price,  Ames?"  asked  Jim  clearly. 


JIM    GETS    A    BLOW  273 

Oscar  jumped  to  his  feet.  "In  the  old  days,"  he 
roared,  "no  man  would  have  lived  to  ask  me  that 
twice!" 

Jim  looked  for  a  long  moment  into  Oscar's  eyes, 
then  he  drawled :  "All  right,  Oscar,  I  apologize.  Only 
you'd  better  leave  national  politics  to  your  inferiors 
after  this.  What's  your  price,  Mr.  Freet?" 

Arthur  Freet  laughed.  "You  can't  get  a  rise  out 
of  me,  Jim!  My  price  is  to  see  these  Projects  a 
financial  success.  Methods  don't  bother  me,  nor  hard 
names." 

Jim  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  turned  sud 
denly  on  Sara.  "Of  course,  you  get  a  chunk  of  money, 
Sara.  But  there  is  something  more  in  it  than  that  for 
you.  What  are  you  trying  to  ruin  me  for,  Sara?" 

Again  Sara  seemed  to  see  scarlet.  "Didn't  you  spoil 
Pen's " 

"Keep  that  name  out  of  this !"  shouted  Jim. 

"Then  don't  ask  me  again  why  I  hate  you,"  returned 
Sara.  "I  told  you  once.  But  you  are  too  superior, 
too  one-sided,  too  egotistical,  to  see  anyone  but  your 
self !"  He  rose  on  one  elbow. 

"You  were  the  closest  friend  I  ever  had  and  you 
turned  me  down  without  a  chance  to  make  myself 
right.  You  never  sent  me  word  in  my  living  death. 
Do  you  suppose  I  enjoy  this  mental  hell  I  live  in? 
Did  you  ever  dream  you  were  nailed  fast  in  your  cof 
fin?  That's  my  life  waking  and  sleeping.  Why 
shouldn't  I  curse  a  God  who  could  serve  me  such  a 
trick?  I  would  make  every  living  thing  a  cripple,  if  I 
could,  and  I'd  begin  on  you,  you!  I'll  get  you  yet!" 

Jim  glanced  at  Oscar.  The  big  desert  farmer  was 
staring  at  Sara,  horror  in  every  line  of  his  face. 


274  STILL   JIM 

"Oh,  come!"  said  Freet,  "I  didn't  know  you  had 
anything  personal  in  this,  Mr.  Saradokis.  Manning 
and  I  are  engineers,  out  for  the  good  of  the  Projects." 

"Whatever  your  motives  are,  Mr.  Freet,"  said  Jim, 
"I  don't  like  your  methods  and  haven't  since  the 
Makon  days.  The  water  power  will  be  opened  to 
public  bids  and  if  you  try  to  force  me  I'll  tell  what  I 
guess." 

Freet  laughed.  "Don't  be  too  sure  of  yourself,  Jim ! 
You  are  branded  as  my  pupil.  If  I  go,  you  will 
probably  go." 

"O  hell!"  said  Jim,  starting  for  the  door.  "I'd 
rather  go  if  I've  got  to  spend  my  life  fighting  fellows 
like  you.  In  this  instance,  though,  I'm  boss.  I  have 
the  sale  of  the  water  power  in  my  control." 

"Don't  be  too  sure,  Jim,"  said  Freet,  still  smiling. 

Oscar  followed  Jim  from  the  tent.  Neither  of  them 
spoke  while  on  the  way  to  Jim's  house  where  Pen  and 
Jane  were  sitting  with  Mrs.  Flynn.  But  in  the  kitchen 
Oscar  made  Jim  wait  while  he  told  the  three  women 
what  had  occurred  in  the  tent  house. 

"Now  all  of  you  witness,"  he  said,  "that  I'm  through 
with  that  bunch.  They  played  me  for  a  sucker  to  in 
fluence  the  farmers  against  Mr.  Manning  and  for  the 
trust.  When  I  think  of  the  many  different  kinds  of  a 
fool  I  am  I  wish  some  good  trained  mule  would  come 
along  and  kick  me." 

"That's  all  right,  Oscar,"  said  Jim,  "you've  been  no 
bigger  fool  than  I  have.  We'll  get  busy  now,  won't 
we?" 

Oscar  flushed  as  Jim  smiled  at  him.  "Darn  it,  Mr. 
Manning,"  he  said,  "why  haven't  you  looked  at  me 
that  way  before?"  Then  he  laughed  with  the  others. 


JIM    GETS    A    BLOW  275 

Then  Pen  spoke  very  uncertainly :  "This  settles  it, 
of  course.  I  shall  go  back  to  New  York  at  once  with 
Sara." 

The  little  group  in  the  kitchen  looked  at  Jim.  His 
face  was  white  and  set. 

"Wait  a  day  or  so,  Pen.  I  must  get  some  sort  of  a 
plan  formulated." 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  that  man  Freet  hanging 
round?"  asked  Pen. 

"Come  down  for  a  day  or  so  with  me,  Mrs.  Pen," 
said  Mrs.  Ames. 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  said  Jim.  "Freet  won't  stay 
after  tomorrow,  anyway.  I  can  promise  you  that." 

"And  I'll  look  out  for  the  caged  hyena,"  said  Mrs. 
Flynn.  "If  God  lets  me  live  to  spare  my  life,  he'll 
get  a  tongue  lashing  from  me  that'll  give  him  new 
respect  for  the  Irish." 

Once  more  the  group  in  the  kitchen  laughed,  though 
tensely,  and  parted  for  the  night. 

The  next  day  Freet  put  in  on  the  dam  with  Jim. 
Jim  treated  him  with  courtesy,  showing  him  every 
thing  that  he  asked  to  see.  Freet  was  very  compli 
mentary  and  told  Jim  he  was  a  credit  to  his  teacher. 
After  a  visit  to  the  quarry  Jim  said  suggestively : 

"You  will  want  to  take  the  six  o'clock  train,  tonight, 
of  course." 

Freet  hesitated.  Jim  went  on  dryly.  "Under  the 
circumstances,  it  is  hardly  in  good  taste  for  you  to 
remain.  It  might  look  as  if  you  and  I  were  having 
a  gentleman's  agreement  on  the  price  of  dams." 

Freet  laughed.  "I  had  planned  to  take  the  six 
o'clock  train.  I  quite  finished  my  business  with  Sara- 


276  STILL   JIM 

dokis  last  night.  He's  a  brilliant  business  man.  Too 
bad  he  has  that  silly  whim  about  you." 

Jim  did  not  answer.  He  called  to  Henderson  and 
asked  him  to  have  the  automobile  sent  to  the  quarter 
house.  He  himself  took  Freet  to  the  train.  They 
talked  construction  work  all  the  way  and  parted  ami 
ably.  Then  Jim  returned  to  his  belated  office  work. 

The  last  letter  that  he  opened  was  from  the  Director 
of  the  Service.  It  explained  to  Jim  that  while  the 
Director  had  complete  faith  in  Jim's  engineering  abil 
ity  and  integrity,  Jim's  unpopularity  not  only  with 
the  public  but  with  the  investigating  committee  made 
his  resignation  seem  expedient  for  the  good  of  the 
Service.  It  was  with  extreme  regret  and  with  full 
appreciation  of  what  Jim  had  done  for  the  Service  that 
the  Director  asked  for  Jim's  resignation,  three  months 
from  date. 

Jim  folded  the  letter  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  Then 
he  stared  out  of  the  door  at  the  Elephant.  The  great 
beast  was  silent  in  the  after-glow.  A  to-hee  cheeped 
sleepily  in  a  nearby  cholla: 

"O  yahee!     O  yahai! 
Sweet  as  arrow  weed  in  spring!" 

Then  Jim  went  slowly  up  the  trail  to  his  house, 
and,  refusing  his  supper,  went  into  his  room  and 
closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

JIM  PLANS  A  LAST  FIGHT 

"The  coyotes  are  going  leaving  behind  them  bleach 
ing  bones.    The  Indians  are  going  leaving  a  few  arrow 
heads  and  water  vessels.     What  will  the  whites  leave?" 
MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

JIM  was  angry.  All  night  he  lay  staring  into  the 
dark  with  his  wrath  accumulating  until  it  finally 
focused  itself,  not  on  the  Director  or  on  Sara  or  on 
the  farmers,  but  on  himself!  He  reviewed  the  years 
mercilessly.  He  saw  how  he  had  refused  again  and 
again  to  shoulder  the  responsibilities  that  belonged 
to  him — belonged,  because  of  his  fitness  to  carry  them. 
Charlie  Tuck  and  Iron  Skull  both  had  done  what 
they  could  to  make  him  see,  but  wrapped  in  his  futile 
dreams  he  had  refused  to  look,  and,  he  told  himself, 
long  before  he  had  left  Exham,  his  father  had  tried 
to  set  him  on  the  right  path  but  he  always  had  put  off 
the  quest  on  which  his  father  had  sent  him,  always 
thrust  it  over  into  tomorrow  when  today  was  waiting 
for  his  start. 

The  very  peak  of  his  anger  was  reached  when  it 
suddenly  came  home  to  Jim  that  he  had  failed  his 
father,  had  proved  renegade  to  old  Exham. 

Three  months!    A  cool  dismissal  after  over  eight 

277 


278  STILL    JIM 

years  of  his  heart's  blood  had  been  given  to  the  Serv 
ice  !  Jim  groaned,  then  sat  erect. 

"Serves  you  right,  you  dreaming  fool !  Nobody  to 
blame  but  yourself!  Three  months!  And  in  that 
time  the  farmers  will  elect  Fleckenstein  to  Congress 
and  the  open  fight  for  repudiation  will  be  on!" 

Jim  groaned  again.  Then  abruptly  he  jumped  out 
of  bed,  turned  on  the  light,  and  looked  at  the  little 
picture  of  Pen  on  the  wall. 

"Pen,"  he  said,  "Fleckenstein  shan't  be  elected !  I'm 
going  out  of  this  Project,  fighting  like  a  hound.  I've 
been  a  quitter  all  my  life,  I'll  admit,  but  I'm  going  to 
put  up  my  fists  at  the  end.  I'll  rush  the  work  here 
and  I'll  keep  Fleckenstein  out  of  Congress.  I'll  spend 
no  time  belly-aching  but  I'll  stand  up  to  this  like  a 
man.  Honestly,  I  will,  Penelope." 

Dawn  was  coming  in  at  the  window.  Jim  filled  the 
bathtub  and  took  a  cold  plunge.  The  sun  was  just 
rimming  the  mountains  when  he  began  to  tune  up  his 
automobile.  He  filled  the  tank  with  gasoline  and 
cranked  the  engine  and  was  starting  out  the  door 
when  old  Suma-theek  appeared.  Jim  stopped. 

"Where  you  go,  Boss?"  asked  the  Indian. 

A  sudden  desire  to  talk  to  Iron  Skull's  old  friend 
made  Jim  say,  "Get  in  and  ride  to  the  bridge  with  me, 
Suma-theek." 

The  chief  clambered  into  the  seat  by  Jim.  "Suma- 
theek,  the  Big  Boss  at  Washington  has  given  me  three 
months  before  I  must  leave  the  dam." 

"Why?"  asked  Suma-theek. 

"Because  I  darn  well  deserve  it.  I've  got  every 
body  here  sore  at  me.  Everybody  on  this  Project 
hates  me,  so  he's  afraid  it  will  hurt  all  the  dams  the 


JIM    PLANS    A    LAST    FIGHT     279 

Big  Sheriff  at  Washington  wants  to  build  for  all  the 
whites." 

"He's  a  heap  fool,  that  Big  Boss  at  Washington. 
All  the  people  that  know  you  love  you  in  their  hearts. 
It  hurt  your  heart  because  you  have  leave  dam?" 

Jim  nodded.  The  old  Indian  eyed  him  keenly. 
Then  his  lean,  bronze  face  turned  sad.  "Why  you 
suppose  Great  Spirit  no  care  how  much  heart  aches? 
Why  you  suppose  he  let  that  little  To-hee  bird  all  time 
sing  love  to  you,  then  no  let  you  have  your  love? 
Maybe,  Boss  Still,  all  those  things  you  believe,  all 
those  things  you  work  for,  Great  Spirit  think  no  use. 
Huh?" 

"The  Great  Spirit  didn't  explain  anything  to  us, 
Suma-theek,  but  he  gave  us  our  dreams.  I  want  to  fix 
my  tribe's  dream  so  firmly  it  can  never  be  forgotten. 
As  for  my  own  little  dream  of  love,  what  does  it 
matter?" 

Suma-theek  responded  to  Jim's  wistful  smile  with 
an  old  man's  smile  of  lost  illusions.  "Dreams  are 
always  before  or  behind.  They  are  never  here.  You 
are  young.  Yours  are  before.  Suma-theek  is  old. 
His  are  behind.  Boss  Still,  you  no  sabez  one  thing. 
All  great  dreams  of  any  tribe  they  built  by  man  for 
love  of  woman." 

Jim  stared  for  a  moment  at  the  purple  shadow  of 
the  Elephant.  Then  he  stopped  the  machine  at  the 
bridge  to  let  Suma-theek  out.  In  a  moment  the  ma 
chine  was  climbing  the  mesa  on  the  road  to  Cabillo. 

Jim  always  thrilled  to  his  first  view  of  Cabillo  as 
he  swung  down  into  the  valley.  It  is  a  little  town 
lying  on  a  desert  plain  three  thousand  feet  above  the 
sea.  Flood  or  drought  or  utter  loneliness  had  not 


280  STILL   JIM 

prevailed  to  keep  men  from  settling  there.  It  is  set 
in  the  vivid  green  of  alfalfa  field,  of  vineyards,  and  of 
orchards.  Around  about  the  town,  the  desert  lies,  rich, 
yellow,  and  to  the  east  rise  mountains  that  stand  like 
deep  purple  organ  pipes  against  the  blue  desert  sky.  It 
seemed  to  Jim  this  morning  that  the  pipes  had  forever 
murmured  with  the  wordless  brooding  music  of  the 
desert  winds.  That  age  after  age  they  had  been  utter 
ing  vast  harmonies  too  deep  for  human  ears  to  hear, 
uttering  them  to  countless  generations  of  men  who 
had  come  and  gone  like  the  desert  sand. 

In  Cabillo  Jim  went,  after  a  hasty  breakfast,  to  see 
John  Haskins.  Haskins  was  a  banker  and  a  Harvard 
man  who  had  come  to  Cabillo  thirty  years  before  with 
bad  lungs.  He  was,  Jim  thought,  an  impartial,  though 
keen,  observer  of  events  in  the  valley.  He  was  in  the 
banker's  office  but  a  few  minutes. 

"Mr.  Haskins,"  he  said,  "do  you  consider  fifty  dol 
lars  an  acre  too  heavy  a  debt  for  the  farmers  to  carry 
on  their  farms?" 

"Not  for  the  experienced  irrigation  farmer,"  re 
plied  Haskins. 

Jim  paused  thoughtfully.  "Experienced !  And  not 
twenty  per  cent,  of  them  will  be  experienced."  He 
made  an  entry  in  his  notebook,  then  asked,  "Is  ten 
years  too  short  a  time  to  give  the  farmers  to  pay  for 
the  dam?" 

"Not  with  wise  cropping." 

"Is  it  possible  to  find  sufficient  water  power  market 
to  practically  pay  for  the  dam,  without  reference  to 
the  crops?"  Jim  went  on. 

"Yes,"  answered  Haskins. 

"If  a  group  of  farmers  and  business  men  will  as- 


JIM    PLANS    A    LAST    FIGHT     281 

sume  a  debt,  voluntarily,  then  repudiate  it,  are  they 
sufficiently  responsible  persons  to  assume  for  all  time 
the  handling  of  the  irrigation  system  and  water  power 
the  government  is  developing  for  them?"  Jim's  voice 
was  slow  and  biting. 

Haskins  answered  clearly,  "No!" 

Jim's  last  question  made  Haskins  smile.  "Is  this 
an  intelligent  group  of  men,  these  farmers  and  business 
men?" 

"Unusually  so,  especially  the  men  who  have  been 
long  in  the  desert  and  have  struggled  with  its  vicissi 
tudes.  Some  of  the  Mexican  farmers  are  difficult  to 
handle,  though,  because  they  don't  understand  what 
the  government  is  trying  to  do.  For  heaven's  sake, 
Manning,  why  this  catechism?" 

Jim  laughed.  "Oh,  I  want  your  opinion  to  quote. 
I'm  about  to  put  up  a  fight  against  Fleckenstein." 

"But  that  will  be  hardly  proper,  will  it,  considering 
your  job?  Not  but  what  I  think  Fleckenstein  ought 
to  be  fought!" 

"Oh,  I'm  not  going  on  the  stump.  I'm  merely  going 
to  fight  him  by  attending  to  certain  portions  of  my 
job  that  I've  always  neglected." 

Jim  rose  and  Haskins  shook  his  head  ruefully. 
"More  power  to  your  elbow,  old  man.  But  nothing 
can  beat  Fleckenstein  now,  I'm  afraid." 

"I'm  going  to  mighty  well  try  it,"  said  Jim  as  he 
hurried  out  the  door. 

His  next  visit  was  along  the  irrigation  canal  to  a 
point  where  his  irrigation  engineer  was  watching  the 
work  on  a  small  power  station. 

"Hello,  Marlow,  how  is  Murphy  doing?" 

Marlow  laughed.     "I  made  him  timekeeper.     He's 


282  STILL   JIM 

assumed  the  duties  of  policeman,  ward  boss  and  of 
advertising  agent  for  you.'* 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  Jim. 

"Coming  right  along  the  road  there  now." 

Jim  started  the  machine  on  to  meet  the  stocky 
figure  that  Marlow  pointed  out. 

Murphy  grinned  broadly  as  Jim  invited  him  into 
the  machine.  "I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Murphy?  How 
does  the  job  go?" 

"Aw,  it's  no  job !  It's  a  joy  ride.  I  thought  I  knew 
every  farmer  in  the  county  but  I  didn't.  A  new  one 
turns  up  every  day  to  tell  the  Little  Boss  how  to 
irrigate." 

"Murphy,"  said  Jim,  "how  do  you  size  up  Flecken- 
stein?" 

Murphy  looked  at  Jim  curiously.  "Just  like  every 
one  else  does,  as  a  crook." 

"How  much  pull  has  he  with  the  farmers?" 

Murphy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "How  much  pull 
would  the  devil  himself  have  if  he  promised  repudia 
tion?  Tell  me  that,  Boss!" 

"Is  the  chap  who  is  running  against  him  any  good  ?" 

"Who,  Ives?  Is  a  bag  of  jelly  an  implement  of 
war?  What  have  you  got  on  your  mind,  Boss?" 

"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  Murphy,  I've  just  come  to! 
The  election  is  just  three  months  off,  isn't  it?  I  am 
going  to  try  to  lick  Fleckenstein  in  that  time." 

"Can't  be  done,  Boss,  unless  you'll  take  the  stump 
yourself." 

"Of  course,  that's  out  of  the  question,"  replied  Jim. 
"But  this  is  what  I'm  going  to  do.  I'm  going  to  see 
every  farmer  in  the  valley  and  have  a  good  talk 
with  him.  I'm  going  to  make  him  see  this  Project 


JIM    PLANS    A    LAST    FIGHT     283 

as  I  do.  And  I'm  going  to  send  for  half  a  dozen  of 
the  best  men  in  the  Department  of  Agriculture  to  come 
out  here  and  get  the  newcomers  interested  in  scien 
tific  farming.  I'm  not  going  to  mention  Flecken- 
stein's  name.'* 

Murphy  looked  at  Jim,  then  out  at  the  irrigating 
ditch  along  which  the  machine  was  moving  slowly. 
"Boss,"  he  said,  "go  ahead  if  it'll  ease  you  up  any,  but 
you  might  as  well  try  to  fight  a  hydrophobia  skunk 
with  a  perfume  atomizer  as  to  try  them  high-brow 
methods  on  Fleckenstein." 

Jim  laughed.  "Well,  do  you  know  of  a  better 
method,  Murphy?" 

"Yes,  the  good,  old-fashioned  way  of  putting  up 
more  whisky,  more  money  and  more  free  rides  than 
the  other  fellow  does." 

Jim  turned  the  machine  back  toward  the  power 
station.  "Of  course,  you  know  that  that  is  out  of  the 
question,  Murphy." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do,  Boss?"  asked 
Murphy. 

"Tomorrow  is  Sunday,"  said  Jim.  "I  want  you  to 
come  up  to  my  house  and  discuss  with  me  the  charac 
teristics  of  every  man  in  the  valley.  I  don't  know 
anyone  better  qualified  to  know  them." 

"I'll  be  there,"  said  Murphy,  climbing  from  the  ma 
chine.  He  watched  Jim  drive  away.  "There's  some 
thing  about  him  that  gets  under  my  skin,"  said  the 
ex-saloonkeeper.  "I'll  be  holding  his  hand,  next. 
Poor  snoozer!  Think  of  him  trying  to  fight  mud  like 
Fleckenstein.  But  I'll  back  him  if  it'll  relieve  his  mind 
any." 

Jim  was  back  at  the  dam  by  mid-afternoon.     He 


284  STILL    JIM 

found  Pen  with  Mrs.  Flynn  in  the  shining  little  kitchen 
of  his  adobe. 

"Penelope,"  he  said,  "is  there  any  way  we  can  rob 
Sara  of  his  poison  fangs?  Certainly  sending  him 
away  will  do  little  good.  I  have  been  thinking  of 
giving  him  his  choice  of  being  under  espionage  or  of 
being  turned  over  to  the  government.  I've  played  with 
him,  Pen,  a  little  too  long.  Now  that  it's  too  late, 
I'm  going  to  lock  the  door." 

Mrs.  Flynn  looked  frightened.  She  never  had  seen 
this  expression  on  Jim's  face  before.  The  scowl  be 
tween  his  eyes  was  deep,  his  jaw  was  tense  and  his 
eyes  were  too  large  and  too  bright.  But  Pen's  face 
flushed  eagerly. 

"You  are  angry  at  last,  Jimmy !  Thank  heaven  for 
that!  We  can  watch  Sara,  easily,  if  you  will  use  your 
authority.  And  oh,  I  do  so  want  to  stay  and  help! 
Your  temper  is  touched  at  last,  Jim.  I  am  thankful 
to  Freet  for  that." 

Jim  nodded  grimly.  "Will  you  go  over  to  the  tent 
with  me?  Or  had  I  better  have  it  out  with  Sara 
alone?" 

"Neither,"  said  Pen.  "I'll  settle  him  myself.  I  feel 
like  having  a  scrap  with  someone.  What  else  are  you 
going  to  do,  Still?  Shall  you  report  Freet?" 

"That's  out  of  the  question.  Freet  is  the  least  of 
my  troubles,  anyhow.  I'll  tell  you  all  my  plans."  He 
looked  from  Mrs.  Flynn,  whose  anxious  eyes  did  not 
leave  his  face,  to  Pen,  with  her  cheeks  showing  the 
scarlet  of  excitement.  Something  in  their  tense  in 
terest  in  him  was  suddenly  very  comforting  to  Jim 
and  he  smiled  at  them.  And  though  it  was  a  little 


JIM    PLANS    A    LAST    FIGHT     285 

strained  it  was  the  old  flashing,  sweet  smile  that  those 
who  knew  him  loved. 

"I  don't  know  how  I'm  to  get  through  the  next 
few  weeks,"  he  said,  "unless  you  two  are  very  kind 
and  polite  to  me." 

Mrs.  Flynn  suddenly  threw  her  apron  over  her 
head.  "God  knows,"  she  sobbed,  "I've  waited  for  you 
to  smile  this  weary  time!  I've  washed  and  mended 
all  your  clothes  and  cleaned  your  room  and  cooked 
everything  I  ever  heard  of  and  not  a  smile  could  I 
get.  I  thought  you  had  something  incurable!" 

Jim  made  a  long  stride  across  the  room  and  hugged 
Mrs.  Flynn,  boyishly.  "Didn't  you  tell  me  you  felt 
like  my  mother  ?  Don't  you  know  mothers  have  to  see 
through  their  boy's  stupidity  and  selfishness  down  to 
the  real  trouble  that  lies  underneath?  No  one  will  do 
it  but  a  mother!" 

Mrs.  Flynn  wiped  her  eyes  on  her  apron.  "God 
knows  I'm  an  old  fool,"  she  said.  "Change  that  dirty 
khaki  suit  so's  I  can  wash  it." 

Jim  chuckled  and  turned  to  Pen.  She  was  watching 
the  little  tableau  with  all  her  hungry  heart  in  her  eyes. 

"Pen!  Oh,  my  dearest!"  breathed  Jim.  Then  he 
paused  with  a  glance  at  his  near-mother,  who  imme 
diately  began  to  rattle  the  stove  lids. 

"Get  out  and  take  a  walk,  the  two  of  you.  God 
knows  I'm  a  good  Catholic,  but  there's  some  things — 
get  out,  the  two  of  you!  Let  your  nerves  ease  up  a 
bit.  Sure  we  all  pound  and  twang  like  a  wet  tent  in 
the  wind." 

Out  on  the  trail  Jim  spoke  a  little  breathlessly: 
"Pen !  If  you  would  just  let  me  put  my  head  down  on 
your  shoulder,  if  you'd  put  your  dear  cheek  on  mine 


286  STILL   JIM 

and  smooth  my  hair,  the  heaven  of  it  would  carry  me 
through  the  next  few  weeks.  Just  that  much,  Pen,  is 
all  I'd  ask  for !" 

Tears  were  in  Pen's  eyes  as  she  looked  up  into  the 
fine,  pleading  face.  "Jim,  I  can't !" 

"You  wouldn't  be  taking  it  from  Sara." 

"Sara!  Poor  Sara!  He  wants  no  embraces  from 
anyone!  I'm  no  more  married  to  Sara  than  a  nurse 
to  her  patient.  But  I  mean  that  as  long  as  things  are 
as  they  are,  the  honest  thing,  the  safe  thing,  is  for  me 
not  to — to — Oh,  Jim,  it's  not  square  to  any  of  us.  We 
must  keep  on  the  straight,  clear  basis  of  friendship!" 

But  Jim  had  seen  Pen's  heart  in  her  eyes  and  the 
call  of  it  was  almost  more  than  his  lonely  heart  could 
bear. 

"Great  heavens,  Pen!"  he  cried.  "Life  is  so  short! 
We  need  each  other  so !  What  does  it  profit  us  or  the 
world  that  all  your  wealth  of  tenderness  should  go  un 
touched  and  all  my  hunger  for  it  unsatisfied?  If  your 
touch  on  my  hair  will  brace  me  for  the  fight  of  my  life, 
why  should  you  deny  it  to  me?" 

Pen  tried  to  laugh.  "Still,  what's  happened  to  your 
morals?" 

Jim  replied  indignantly :  "You  can't  apply  a  system 
of  ethics  to  your  cheek  against  mine  except  to  say  it's 
all  wrong  that  I  can't  have  you  now,  in  my  great  need. 
And  I  warn  you,  Pen,  I  shall  come  to  you  thirsty  until 
at  last  you  give  me  what  is  mine.  Only  your  cheek 
to  mine  is  all  I  ask  for,  Penny." 

Pen  looked  up  at  the  pleading  beauty  of  Jim's  eyes. 
"Don't  plead  with  me,  Jim,"  she  half  whispered,  "or 
I  think  my  heart  will  break." 

The  two  looked  away  from  each  other  to  the  Ele- 


JIM    PLANS    A    LAST    FIGHT     287 

phant.  The  great  beast  seemed  to  sleep  in  the  after 
noon  sun. 

'Tell  me  about  your  plans,  Still,"  said  Pen,  her 
voice  not  altogether  steady. 

"Murphy  thinks  I'm  a  fool,"  said  Jim.  "Perhaps  I 
am.  But  Oscar  Ames  has  been  a  good  deal  of  a  sur 
prise  to  me:  Just  as  soon  as  I  took  the  trouble  to  ex 
plain  the  concrete  matter  to  him,  he  got  it  instantly. 
And  in  a  way  he  got  my  talk  about  the  new  social  obli 
gations  you  showed  me." 

Pen  interrupted  eagerly:  "You  don't  know  how 
much  you  did  in  that  talk,  Jim.  Oscar  has  discovered 
you  and  he's  as  proud  as  Columbus.  He  has  made 
me  tell  him  everything  I  know  about  you.  You  see 
you  have  that  rare  capacity  for  making  anyone  you 
will  take  the  trouble  to  talk  to  feel  as  if  he  was  your 
only  friend  and  confidant.  Oscar  has  discovered  that 
you  are  misunderstood,  that  he  is  the  only  person  that 
really  understands  you  and  he's  out  now  explaining 
to  his  neighbors  how  little  they  really  know  about 
concrete." 

Jim  looked  surprised.  "I  don't  know  what  I  did, 
except  to  follow  your  instructions,  but  if  it  worked 
on  Ames,  it  ought  to  work  on  the  rest.  I  believe  that 
after  a  few  more  talks  with  Ames,  he  will  work  against 
Fleckenstein,  Pen,  and  that  I  will  accomplish  it  by 
just  talking  the  dam  to  him  until  he  understands  the 
technical  side  of  it  and  the  ideal  I  have  about  it.  And 
if  it  will  influence  him,  why  not  the  others?" 

Pen  looked  at  him  thoughtfully.  "I  believe  you  can 
do  it,  Jim.  A  sort  of  silent  campaign,  eh  ?  And  then 
what?" 

"Well,  if  I  can  keep  Fleckenstein  out  of  Congress  by 


288  STILLJIM 

those  means,  I  believe  that  this  project  will  never  re 
pudiate  its  debt!  I  am  going  to  get  the  Department 
of  Agriculture  to  send  a  group  of  experts  out  here  at 
once.  They  will  help  not  only  the  old  farmers  who 
over-irrigate  but  the  new  farmers  who  can't  farm. 
And  I'm  going  to  get  the  farmers  who  have  been  suc 
cessful  to  co-operate  with  the  farmers  who  have  failed. 
If  I  only  had  more  time ! 

"You  have  three  months  before  election,"  said  Pen. 
"A  lot  can  be  done  in  three  months." 

Jim  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  can  only  do  my 
limit.  Among  other  things  I'm  going  to  try  to  get 
the  bankers  and  business  men  in  Cabillo  to  fight  the 
inflation  of  land  values  here  on  the  Project.  Incident 
ally,  I'm  going  to  keep  on  building  my  dam." 

"How  can  I  help?"  asked  Pen. 

"I've  told  you  how,"  said  Jim,  quietly. 

"Oh,  Still,  that's  not  fair!"  exclaimed  Pen. 

"Why  not?"  asked  Jim,  coolly.  Pen  flushed  and 
looked  away.  They  were  nearing  the  tent  house  and 
she  spoke  hastily: 

"I'll  go  in  and  talk  with  Sara." 

"Better  let  me,"  said  Jim. 

"No,"  said  Pen,  "every  woman  has  an  inalienable 
right  to  bully  and  intimidate  her  own  husband." 

Jim  laughed  and  left  her,  reluctantly.  Pen  went  into 
the  tent.  Sara  was  looking  flushed  and  tired.  The 
look  had  been  growing  on  him  of  late.  He  had  been 
unusually  tractable  for  a  day  or  so  and  Pen's  heart 
smote  her  as  she  greeted  him.  No  matter  how  he 
tried  her,  Sara  never  ceased  to  be  a  pitiful  and  a  tragic 
figure  to  her  in  his  wrecked  and  aborted  youth. 

"Sara,"  she  said,  her  voice  very  gentle  and  her  touch 


JIM    PLANS    A    LAST    FIGHT     289 

very  tender  as  she  held  a  glass  of  water  for  him,  "Jim 
wanted  to  come  in  and  talk  to  you  but  I  wouldn't  let 
him." 

Sara  pushed  the  glass  away.    "Why  not  ?" 

"Because  you  and  he  quarrel  so.  Sara,  it's  a  fair 
fight.  You  warned  Jim  that  you  would  ruin  him.  He 
says  you  may  have  your  choice  of  being  watched  or 
turned  over  to  the  authorities." 

"He  is  a  mutton  head !"  said  Sara.  "I  suppose  he 
thinks  the  crux  of  the  matter  is  that  seance  with  Freet. 
As  if  I'd  do  as  coarse  work  as  that !  That's  what  I'd 
like,  to  be  turned  over  to  the  authorities.  Couldn't  I 
tell  a  pretty  story  about  the  meeting  with  Freet  up 
here?  Freet  actually  thought  Jim  would  come  across 
with  the  contract!  But  that  wasn't  what  I  was  after." 

"Sara,  when  you  talk  like  that,  I  despise  you,"  said 
Pen. 

"You  despise  me  because  I'm  a  cripple,"  returned 
Sara.  "Why  can't  you  be  honest  about  it?" 

"Don't  you  know  me  yet,  Sara?"  asked  Pen,  sitting 
down  on  the  foot  of  his  couch  and  looking  at  him 
entreat ingly.  "Don't  you  know  that  if  you  had  taken 
your  injury  like  a  man,  you'd  have  gotten  a  hold  on 
my  tenderness  and  respect  that  nothing  could  have 
destroyed?  Sara,  I've  watched  you  degenerate  for 
eight  years,  but  I  never  realized  to  what  a  depth  you 
had  sunk  until  you  came  to  the  Project." 

"What  do  you  see  in  the  Project,"  said  Sara. 
"What  does  it  really  matter  whether  private  or  pub 
lic  interests  control  it?  Who  really  cares?" 

"Lots  of  people  care.    Jim  cares." 

"Pshaw!"  sneered  Sara.    "All  Jim  Manning  really 


29Q  STILL   JIM 

cares  about  is  his  own  pigheaded  sense  of  race  and 
nationality." 

"Jim  needs  that  sense  for  his  propelling  power," 
said  Pen.  "I  believe  that  just  as  soon  as  a  man  loses 
his  sense  of  nationality,  he  loses  a  lot  of  his  social 
force.  Love  of  country — a  man  that  hasn't  it  lacks 
something  very  fine,  like  family  pride  and  honor. 
Jim's  sense  of  race  is  the  keynote  to  his  character.- 
And  just  as  much  as  the  New  Englanders  have  lost 
that  sense,  have  they  lost  their  grip  on  the  trend  of  the 
nation.  They  are  the  type  that  can't  do  without  it." 

Sara  eyed  Pen  curiously.  She  had  turned  to  look 
out  over  the  desert  distances  so  that  Sara  saw  her 
profile  clean  cut  against  the  sky.  She  was  only  a  girl 
and  yet  she  had  lived  through  much.  Sara  looked  at 
her  noble  head,  high  arched  above  her  ears;  at  her 
short  nose  and  full  soft  mouth,  at  her  straight  brow, 
all  blending  in  an  outline  that  was  that  of  the  thinker, 
infinitely  sad  in  its  intelligence. 

'That  was  a  very  highbrow  statement  of  yours, 
Pen,"  he  said,  less  harshly  than  usual.  "How  did  you 
come  to  think  about  these  things?" 

Pen  turned  to  look  at  him.  "Marrying  you  made 
me,"  she  said.  "I  had  to  use  my  mind.  I  had  no 
family.  I  had  no  talents.  I  had  to  teach  myself  a 
sense  of  proportion  that  would  keep  you  from  wreck 
ing  me.  I  wanted  to  get  to  look  at  myself  as  one  hu 
man  living  with  millions  of  other  humans  and  not  as 
Pen,  the  center  of  her  own  universe."  Pen  laughed 
a  little  wistfully.  "Since  I  couldn't  mother  children 
of  my  own,  naturally,  I  had  to  mother  the  world." 

Sara  grunted.  "Huh!  Who  can  say  my  life  has 
been  altogether  a  failure?" 


JIM    PLANS    A    LAST    FIGHT     291 

Sudden  tears  sprang  to  Pen's  eyes.  "Why,  Sara, 
what  a  dear  thing  to  say !  And  I  thought  you  would 
remove  my  hair  because  of  Jim's  message." 

The  sneer  returned  to  Sara's  voice.  "You  ask  Jim 
if  he  ever  heard  of  locking  the  barn  too  late  ?  Tell  him 
to  bring  on  his  'armed  guards.'  ' 

Pen  was  startled.    "Sara,  what  have  you  done?" 

Sara  laughed.  "If  you  and  Jim  don't  know,  I'm 
not  the  proper  one  to  tell  you!  One  of  your  gentle 
man  friends  is  outside,  evidently  waiting  for  you." 

Pen  looked  out.  Old  Suma-theek  was  standing  on 
the  trail,  arms  folded,  watching  the  tent  patiently. 
He  had  had  one  interview  with  Sara  soon  after  the 
crippled  man  had  appeared  at  the  dam.  The  talk  had 
been  desultory  and  in  Pen's  presence,  but  never  after 
could  the  old  Indian  be  induced  to  come  into  the  tent. 

"He  like  a  broken  backed  snake,  your  buck,"  he  had 
said  calmly  to  Pen,  whom  he  had  obviously  adored 
from  the  first. 

Pen  came  down  the  trail  to  see  what  Suma-theek 
wanted.  She  knew  there  was  no  hurrying  him,  so  she 
sat  down  on  a  stone  and  waited.  Suma-theek  seated 
himself  beside  her  and  rolled  a  cigarette.  After  he 
had  smoked  half  of  it,  he  said: 

"Boss  Still  Jim,  he  heap  sad  in  his  heart." 

Pen  nodded. 

"You  love  him,  Pen  Squaw?"  asked  Suma-theek, 
earnestly. 

"We  ail  do,"  replied  Pen.  "He  and  I  have  known 
each  other  many,  many  years." 

"Don't  talky-talk!"  cried  Suma-theek  impatiently. 
"I  mean  you  love  him  with  a  big  love  ?" 

Pen  looked  into  Suma-theek's  face.    She  had  grown 


292  STILLJIM 

very  close  to  the  old  Indian.  And  then,  as  if  the  flood 
in  her  heart  was  beyond  her  control,  she  said : 

"You  will  never  tell,  Suma-theek  ?"  and  as  the 
Apache  shook  his  head  she  went  on  eagerly,  "I  love 
him  so  much  that  after  a  while  I  must  go  away,  old 
friend,  or  my  heart  will  break!" 

The  old  Indian  shook  his  head  wonderingly. 
"Whites  are  crazy  fools,"  he  groaned.  "You  sabez 
he  be  here  only  three  months  more?" 

Pen  started.    "What  do  you  mean,  Suma-theek?" 

"You  no  tell  'em!"  warned  the  old  chief.  "He  tell 
Suma-theek  this  morning.  Big  Boss  in  Washington 
tell  'em  he  only  stay  three  months,  then  be  on  any  Pro 
jects  no  more." 

Pen  sat  appalled.  "Oh,  Suma-theek,  that  can't  be 
true!  You  couldn't  have  heard  right.  I'll  go  and 
ask  him  now." 

Suma-theek  laid  a  hand  on  her  arm.  "You  no  talk 
to  him  about  it!  You  last  one  he  want  to  know.  I 
tell  you  so  you  go  love  him,  then  he  no  care  what 
happen." 

"Oh,  Suma-theek,  you  don't  understand !  He  loves 
the  dam.  It  will  break  his  heart  to  leave  it.  Even  I 
couldn't  comfort  him  for  that.  Are  you  sure  you  are 
right?" 

Yet  even  as  she  repeated  the  question,  Pen's  own 
sick  heart  answered.  This  was  what  had  put  the  new 
strain  into  Jim's  face,  the  new  pleading  into  his  voice. 

"How  shall  I  help  him,"  she  moaned. 

"You  no  tell  him,  you  sabez,"  repeated  Suma-theek. 
"He  want  you  think  he  Boss  here  long  as  he  can.  All 
men's  like  that  with  their  squaw." 

"I  won't  tell  him,"  promised  Pen.    "But  what  shall 


JIM    PLANS    A    LAST    FIGHT     293 

I  do?"  She  clasped  and  unclasped  her  fingers,  then 
she  sprang  to  her  feet.  "I  know !  I  know !  It  will  be 
like  a  strong  arm  under  his  poor  overburdened 
shoulders !" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  SILENT  CAMPAIGN 

"I  have  seen  that  those  humans  who  seek  strength 
from  Nature  never  fail  to  find  it." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

SUMA-THEEK  waited   eagerly.     "I'll   send    for 
Uncle  Benny,"  said  Pen.     "He'll  leave  anything 
to  help  Jim." 

Suma-theek  nodded.  "Good  medicine.  He  that 
fat  uncle  that  love  the  Big  Boss.  I  sabez  him.  You 
get  'em  here  quick,"  and  Suma-theek  sighed  with  the 
air  of  one  who  had  accomplished  something. 

"I'll  telephone  a  night  telegram  to  Cabillo,"  said 
Pen.  "He  ought  to  be  here  in  a  week.  But  we  mustn't 
tell  the  Big  Boss  or  he  wouldn't  let  us  do  it." 

Suma-theek  nodded  and  strolled  off.  When  Pen 
returned  to  the  tent  Sara  was  full  of  curiosity,  but  Pen 
began  to  get  supper  with  the  remark,  "I'm  not  the 
proper  one  to  tell  you,  if  you  don't  know !" 

When  Pen  sent  the  night  telegram,  she  telephoned  to 
Jane  Ames,  getting  her  promise  to  come  up  to  the  dam 
the  next  day.  As  she  took  the  long  trail  back  from  the 
store,  where  she  had  gone  for  privacy  in  sending  her 
messages,  it  seemed  to  Pen  that  she  could  not  bear  to 
refuse  Jim  the  comfort  for  which  he  had  begged. 

294 


THE    SILENT    CAMPAIGN      295 

"My  one  safeguard,"  she  thought,  "is  to  avoid  him 
except  where  we  are  chaperoned  by  half  the  camp. 
My  poor  boy,  keeping  his  real  troubles  to  himself !" 

After  Sara  was  asleep  that  night,  Pen  slipped  over 
to  talk  with  Mrs.  Flynn.  The  two  women  were  good 
friends.  Sara's  ugliness  deprived  Pen  here  as  it  had 
in  New  York  of  the  friendship  of  most  women.  In 
the  camp  were  many  charming  women  who  had  lived 
lives  with  their  engineering  husbands  that  made  them 
big  of  soul  and  sound  of  body.  But  Sara  would  have 
none  of  them.  So  Pen  fell  back  on  Mrs.  Ames  and 
Mrs.  Flynn  and  the  strangely  matched  trio  had  many 
happy  hours  together. 

But  Mrs.  Flynn  was  not  in  her  kitchen,  nor  was 
she  in  her  little  bedroom.  Pen  wandered  into  the  liv 
ing  room.  Mrs.  Flynn  was  not  there,  but  Jim  was 
lying  on  the  couch  asleep,  his  hat  on  the  floor  beside 
him.  For  many  moments  Pen  stood  looking  at  him. 
Sleep  robbed  Jim  of  his  guard  of  self-control.  The 
man  lying  on  the  couch,  with  face  relaxed,  lips  parted, 
hair  tumbled,  looked  like  the  boy  whom  Pen  many 
a  time  had  wakened  on  the  hearth  rug  of  the  old 
library. 

Suddenly,  with  a  little  sob,  Pen  dropped  on  her 
knees  beside  the  couch  and  laid  her  cheek  against 
Jim's.  She  felt  him  wake  with  a  start,  then  she  felt 
a  hand  that  trembled  gently  laid  on  her  head. 

"Heart's  dearest,  this  is  mighty  good  of  you !"  said 
Jim  huskily. 

Pen  did  not  answer,  but  she  put  her  hand  up  and 
smoothed  his  hair  back  from  his  forehead.  Jim  seized 
her  fingers  and  carried  them  to  his  lips. 

"Sweetheart,"  he  said  brokenly,  "how  am  I  going 


296  STILL   JIM 

to  bear  it  without  you  or — or  anything.  Oh,  Pen,  let's 
go  back  to  Exham  and  begin  all  over  again !" 

Penelope  lifted  her  head  and  slipped  back  until  she 
was  sitting  on  the  floor  beside  the  couch,  with  Jim 
holding  both  her  hands  against  his  hot  cheek. 

"You  will  do  this  often,  won't  you,  dear?"  asked 
Jim. 

Pen  shook  her  head.  ''Jimmy,  about  twice  more 
like  this  and  I'd  be  actually  thinking  seriously  of  leav 
ing  Sara  and  marrying  you.  God  help  me  to  keep 
from  ever  doing  as  yellow  a  thing  as  that,  Still.  But, 
somehow  tonight,  I  thought  that  just  this  once  would 
help  us  both  through  all  the  hard  months  to  come.  And 
the  memory  will  be  mighty  sweet.  We — we  need  a 
memory  to  take  some  of  the  bitterness  out  of  it  all, 
Still.  If  I'm  wrong  in  doing  this,  why  the  blame  is 
mine  alone." 

Jim  lay  silently,  holding  her  hands  closer  and  closer, 
looking  into  her  face  with  eyes  that  did  not  waver. 

Pen  smiled  and  disengaged  one  hand  to  smooth  his 
hair  again.  "I'm  a  poor  preacher.  My  life  is  just  an 
endless  struggle  not  to  let  my  mistakes  wreck  other 
people  as  well  as  myself.  Jim,  the  thing  that  will  be 
bigger  than  all  we've  missed  is  to  make  you  give  the 
world  all  the  fine  force  that  is  in  you.  We've  got  to 
save  the  dam  for  you  and  for  the  country.  I  shall  be 
with  you  every  moment,  Jim,  no  matter  where  either 
of  us  is,  bracing  you  with  all  the  will  I've  got.  Never 
forget  that!" 

Little  by  little  the  steel  lines  crept  over  Jim's  face 
again.  "I  shall  not  forget,  little  Pen.  How  sweet  you 
are !  How  good !  How  less  than  a  lump  of  dough  I'd 
be  if  I  didn't  put  up  a  good  fight  after  this ! — dearest !" 


THE    SILENT    CAMPAIGN      297 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  they  did  not  take  their 
gaze  from  each  other.  Then  Pen  started,  as  Mrs. 
Flynn  came  in  at  the  front  door  and  stopped  with  her 
mouth  open.  But  Jim  would  not  free  Pen's  hand. 

"Mother  Flynn  must  have  guessed,"  he  said  slowly, 
"and — she  knows  us  both !" 

Mrs.  Flynn  came  over  to  the  couch  eagerly.  "I  do 
that!"  she  exclaimed,  "and  my  heart  is  wore  to  a 
string,  God  knows,  sorrowing  for  the  two  of  you." 

"I  came  in  to  see  you  and  found  Jim  asleep  and — 
he's  got  so  much  trouble  ahead  of  him,  I  couldn't  help 
trying  to  comfort  him  just  this  once.  I'll  never  do  it 
again,"  said  Pen,  like  a  child. 

Mrs.  Flynn  threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  then 
pulled  it  down  again  to  say,  "God  knows  I'm  a  good 
Catholic,  but  I'm  glad  you  did  it.  Don't  I  know  what 
a  touch  of  the  hand  means  to  remember?  Is  there  a 
day  of  my  life  I  don't  live  over  every  caress  Timothy 
Flynn  ever  gave  me?  Would  I  sit  in  judgment  on  two 
as  fine  as  I  know  the  both  of  you  are?  I'm  going  to 
make  us  a  cup  of  tea  for  our  nerves." 

Jim  swung  his  long  legs  off  the  couch  and  lifted  Pen 
to  her  feet.  "The  two  of  you  have  tea,"  he  said. 
"I've  had  a  better  tonic.  I'm  going  out  for  a  look  at 
the  night  shift." 

By  the  time  that  Mrs.  Flynn  had  bustled  about  and 
produced  the  tea,  Pen  had  regained  her  composure  and 
was  ready  to  tell  Mrs.  Flynn  of  the  errand  that  had 
brought  her  to  the  house,  which  was  that  when  Jane 
Ames  came  up  on  the  morrow  the  three  were  to  have  a 
council  of  war  on  how  to  help  Jim.  Wild  horse  could 
not  have  dragged  from  her  what  Suma-theek  had  told 
her,  since  Jim  so  evidently  wanted  it  kept  a  secret. 


298  STILL    JIM 

Nevertheless,  all  that  a  woman  could  do,  possessing 
that  knowledge,  Pen  was  going  to  do. 

The  next  afternoon,  while  Oscar  joined  Murphy  and 
Jim,  who  were  having  a  long  talk  in  Jim's  living  room, 
Pen  and  Mrs.  Ames  and  Mrs.  Flynn  went  up  onto  the 
Elephant's  back. 

Pen's  plan  was  simple.  It  was  merely  that  she  and 
Jane  go  among  the  farmers'  wives  and  campaign 
against  Fleckenstein.  "Women's  opinions  do  count, 
you  know/'  she  said. 

"Mine  didn't  use  to,"  said  Jane,  "but  they  do  now. 
I  ain't  felt  so  young  in  years  as  I  have  since  Oscar 
and  I  had  that  clearing  up.  It's  a  splendid  idea." 

"Where  do  I  come  in?"  asked  Mrs.  Flynn,  jealously. 

"I  wanted  you  to  keep  an  eye  on  Sara,  the  days  I 
am  away,"  said  Pen.  "You  are  the  only  one  he  will 
let  come  near  him  except  me." 

"Sure  I'll  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Flynn.  "I'd  take  care  of 
a  Gila  monster  if  I  thought  it  would  do  the  Boss  any 
good.  And  Mr.  Sara  don't  sass  me  so  much  since  I 
told  him  what  I  thought  of  the  Greek  church.  No! 
No!  I  won't  tell  the  Boss.  God  knows  I'm  worried 
thin  as  a  knitting  needle  now  over  his  worrying." 

"Then  I'll  come  down  tomorrow,  Jane,"  said  Pen. 

"Bill  Evans  will  take  us  round.  He  charges "  Pen 

blushed  and  stopped.  "I — I — to  tell  the  truth,  I  have 
to  ask  Sara  for  what  I  want  and  I  don't  know  just 
how  to  get  round  it,  this  time." 

Jane  in  her  turn  went  red.  "I'll  ask  Oscar.  I  hadn't 
begun  to  break  him  in  on  that  yet.  But  he's  been  so 
nice  lately." 

Mrs.  Flynn  stood  eying  the  two  women.  "Of  all 
the  fools,  women  are  the  worst,"  she  snorted.  "You 


THE    SILENT    CAMPAIGN      299 

bet  Tim  never  kept  the  purse  and  there  never  was  a 
happier  pair  than  him  and  me.  Just  you  wait." 

As  she  spoke,  Jim's  near  mother  was  exploring  the 
region  within  her  gingham  waist  and  finally  she  tugged 
out  a  chamois  skin  bag  that  bulged  with  bills.  "I  ain't 
been  down  to  the  bank  at  Cabillo  for  months,  and  that 
angel  boy  pays  me  regular  as  a  clock.  How  much  do 
you  want?" 

"Oh,  but  we  can't  let  you  pay  out  anything,  Mrs. 
Flynn,"  protested  Penelope. 

Neither  Pen  nor  Mrs.  Ames  had  seen  Mrs.  Flynn 
angry  before.  "I  mustn't,  mustn't  I?"  she  shrieked. 
"Who's  got  a  better  right?  Who  feeds  him  and  laun 
ders  him  and  mends  him?  Don't  he  call  me  Mother 
Flynn  ?  God  knows  I  never  thought  to  see  the  day  to 
be  told  I  could  not  do  for  him !  I  expect  to  be  doing 
for  him  till  I  die  and  if  God  lets  me  live  to  spare  my 
life,  that'll  be  a  long  time  yet!" 

Pen  threw  her  arms  round  Mrs.  Flynn  and  kissed 
her  plump  cheek.  "Bless  your  dear  heart,  you  shall 
spend  all  you  want  to  on  Jim." 

Mother  Flynn  sobbed  a  little.  "God  knows  I'm  an 
old  fool,  girls!  Take  what  you  want  and  come  back 
for  more." 

And  thus  the  campaign  for  Jim  among  the  farmers' 
wives  was  launched. 

Neither  Oscar  nor  Murphy  had  any  faith  in  Jim's 
"silent  campaign."  But  his  own  quiet  fervor  was 
such  that  after  that  Sunday  afternoon's  talk,  both  men 
pledged  themselves  to  help  him.  Murphy  was  to  play 
the  part  of  watchdog.  Oscar  was  to  work  among  the 
farmers. 

Oscar  Ames  never  did  anything  by  halves.     With 


300  STILLJIM 

Jane  urging  him  from  without  and  his  new  found  faith 
in  Jim  urging  him  from  within,  he  turned  his  ranch 
over  to  the  foreman  and  devoted  himself  utterly  to 
Jim.  The  days  now  were  busy  ones  in  the  valley  as 
well  as  on  the  dam.  Jim's  eighteen  hours  a  day  often 
stretched  into  twenty,  though  he  sometimes  dozed  in 
his  office  chair  or  in  the  automobile  with  Oscar,  revel 
ing  in  his  new-learned  accomplishment,  driving  at  a 
snail's  pace. 

During  this  period  Pen  saw  him  only  infrequently, 
for  she  was  much  occupied  with  Sara,  who  was  not  so 
well,  when  she  was  not  in  the  valley  with  Jane  Ames. 
Even  when  Pen  did  see  Jim,  he  talked  very  little.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  in  his  fear  lest  the  secret  of  his  dis 
missal  escape  him,  he  had  gone  into  himself  and  shut 
the  door  even  against  her. 

They  did  not  speak  again  of  watching  Sara,  but  Pen 
knew  that  no  mail  left  their  tent,  no  visitor  came  and 
went  without  surveillance.  If  Sara  knew  of  this,  he 
made  no  comment.  In  fact,  he  did  very  little  now  save 
smoke  and  stare  idly  out  the  door. 

Reports  of  Jim's  campaign  reached  Pen  quite  regu 
larly,  however.  Oscar  was  a  very  steady  source  of  in 
formation. 

"He  don't  say  much,  you  know,  and  that's  what 
makes  a  hit,"  Oscar  told  Pen  and  Jane.  "For  instance, 
he  went  over  to  old  Miguel's  ranch.  Miguel's  one  of 
the  fellow's  been  accusing  the  Boss  of  raising  the  cost 
of  the  dam  so's  he  could  steal  the  money.  Boss,  he 
found  old  Miguel  looking  over  his  ditch  that's  over  a 
hundred  years  old.  And  the  Boss,  he  says  as  common 
as  an  old  shoe : 


THE    SILENT    CAMPAIGN      301 

"  'Wish  I  owned  the  place  my  fathers  built  a  hun 
dred  years  ago,  Seiior  Miguel.' 

"Miguel,  he  had  had  his  mind  made  up  for  a  fight, 
but  started  off  telling  the  Boss  about  old  Spanish  days 
in  the  valley  and  the  Boss,  he  sits  nodding  and  smoking 
Miguel's  rotten  cigarettes  and  smiling  at  him  sort  of 
sad  and  friendly  like  until  old  Miguel  he  thinks  the 
Boss  is  the  only  man  he  ever  met  that  understood  him. 
After  two  straight  hours  of  this,  the  Boss  he  says  he'll 
have  to  go,  but  he  wishes  old  Miguel  would  come  up 
and  spend  the  day  and  dine  with  him.  Says  he's  got 
some  serious  problems  he'd  like  old  Miguel's  opinion 
on.  And  old  Miguel,  he  follows  us  clear  out  to  the 
main  road,  where  we  left  the  machine,  and  he  tells  the 
Boss  his  house  is  his  and  his  wife  and  his  daughters 
and  sons  are  his  and  his  horses  and  cattle  are  his  and 
that  he  will  be  glad  to  come  up  and  show  him  how  to 
build  the  dam." 

"Mrs.  Flynn  says  he's  having  some  farmer  up  to 
supper  nearly  every  night,"  said  Jane.  "Oscar,  how 
comes  it  you  always  speak  of  Mr.  Manning  as  the 
Boss,  now?  You  never  would  call  any  other  man 
that?" 

Oscar  squared  his  big  shoulders.  "He's  the  only 
man  I  ever  met  I  thought  knew  more  than  I  do.  You 
ought  to  hear  the  things  he  can  tell  you  about  dam 
building.  And  he's  full  of  other  ideas,  too.  A  lot 
of  what  you  folks  put  down  as  stuckupedness  is  just 
quietness  on  his  part  while  he  thinks.  I'm  trying  to 
pound  that  into  these  bullheaded  ranchers  round  here. 
I  tell  'em  how  to  make  sand-cement,  for  instance,  and 
then  ask  'em  if  a  fellow  didn't  have  to  keep  his  mouth 
shut  and  saw  wood  while  he  thought  a  thing  like  that 


302  STILL    JIM 

out.  I'm  willing  to  call  him  Boss,  all  right.  He's  got 
more  in  his  head  than  sand  cement,  too.  Last  night, 
we  was  coming  home  just  before  supper.  He's  been 
on  the  job  since  four  in  the  morning  and  I  knew  he 
had  to  get  back  and  work  half  the  night  on  office  work. 
And  I  says : 

"  'Boss,  what  will  you  get  out  of  it  to  pay  you  for 
half  killing  yourself  this  way?' 

"Pie  didn't  answer  me  for  a  long  time,  then  he  be 
gun  to  tell  me  a  story  about  how  he  and  another  fellow 
went  through  the  Makon  canyon  and  how  that  other 
fellow  felt  about  it  and  how  he  was  drowned  and  how 
he  had  some  verses  that  that  fellow  taught  him  printed 
on  his  gravestone.  Thought  I'd  remember  those  lines. 
They  made  me  feel  more  religious  than  anything  I've 
heard  at  church.  Something  about  Sons  of  Martha." 

Pen  had  been  listening,  her  heart  in  her  eyes,  trying 
not  to  envy  Oscar  his  long  days  with  Jim.  Now  she 
leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"Oh,  I  know  what  he  quoted  to  you : 

"  'Lift  ye  the  stone  or  cleave  the  wood  to  make  a  path  more 

fair  or  flat, 
Lo,  it  is  black  already  with  blood,  some  Son  of  Martha  spilled 

for  that. 
Not  as  a  ladder  from  Earth  to  Heaven,  not  as  an  altar  to  any 

creed, 

But  simple  Service,  simply  given,  to  their  own  kind,  in  their 
common  need.' " 

The  three  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  then  Oscar  nod 
ded.  "That's  them.  He  said  he  never  got  their  full 
meaning  till  just  lately  and  now  he's  trying  to  live  up 
to  'em.  I'm  perfectly  willing  to  call  him  Boss." 

Pen  and  Jane  were  not  finding  the  farmers'  wives 


THE    SILENT    CAMPAIGN      303 

easy  to  influence.  Their  task  was  a  double  one.  First 
they  had  to  rouse  interest  in  the  coming  election  and 
then  they  had  to  persuade  the  women  that  their  hus 
bands  were  wrong.  Moreover,  after  the  first  week  or 
so,  they  found  that  Penelope's  presence  was  a  hin 
drance  rather  than  a  help.  It  was  after  their  call  on 
Mrs.  Hunt  that  they  reluctantly  reached  this  conclu 
sion. 

Bill  rattled  them  up  to  a  bungalow  on  one  of  the  new 
ranches.  The  Hunts  were  newcomers,  having  bad  luck 
with  their  first  attempts  at  irrigation.  Mrs.  Hunt  was 
a  hearty  looking  woman  of  forty.  Pen  stated  the  ob 
ject  of  the  call. 

"I  never  had  any  interest  in  politics,"  said  Mrs. 
Hunt.  "I  was  always  too  busy  with  my  family  to  gal 
livant  around." 

Jane  and  Pen  plunged  earnestly  into  explanations. 
When  they  had  finished,  Mrs.  Hunt  said : 

"I  can  see  why  Mrs.  Ames  is  so  interested.  But 
why  should  you  be,  Mrs.  Sardox?  I  heard  your  hus 
band  was  backing  Fleckenstein." 

"I  don't  agree  with  my  husband's  ideas,"  said  Pen. 
"I  am  doing  this  because  I  think  Fleckenstein's  election 
will  do  the  valley  a  deadly  wrong." 

"Oh,  you  are  one  of  those  eastern  women  that  thinks 
they  know  more  than  their  husbands!  I  am  not!  I 
prefer  to  let  my  husband  do  my  thinking  in  politics 
for  me.  Does  Mr.  Manning  know  you're  doing  this  ?" 

"Oh,  no !"  cried  Jane.  "You  don't  understand  this, 
Mrs.  Hunt." 

*Tm  no  fool,"  returned  Mrs.  Hunt.  "And  I  tell  you 
it  don't  look  well  for  a  good-looking  young  married 
woman  to  go  round  fighting  against  her  husband  for 


304  STILL   JIM 

a  handsome  young  bachelor  like  Manning.    So  there !" 

Pen  and  Jane  withdrew  with  as  much  dignity  as 
they  could  muster.  It  was  the  sixth  rebuff  they  had 
received  that  day.  Pen  was  almost  in  tears. 

"Jane,  what  are  we  to  do?" 

Jane  fastened  up  her  linen  duster  firmly.  "One 
thing  is  sure,  you  can't  go  round  with  me.  One  way, 
you  can't  blame  'em  for  looking  at  it  so,  drat  'em! 
I'll  just  have  to  carry  on  this  campaign  by  myself.  I 
wish  Mr.  Manning  could  go  with  me.  I  don't  think  he 
has  any  idea  that  he  has  a  way  with  women.  He  just 
sits  around  looking  as  if  he  had  a  deep-hidden  sorrow 
and  all  us  women  fall  for  it.  You  and  I  aren't  a  bit 
more  sensible  than  Mrs.  Flynn.  Here  I  got  a  Chinese 
cook  in  the  house  Oscar  lugged  home.  I'd  as  soon 
have  a  rat  in  the  house  as  one  of  the  nasty  yellow 
things,  but  Oscar  says  I  got  to  have  him  or  a  dish 
washing  machine,  so,  after  all,  I've  said  I'm  up  against 
it.  And  here  I  am  dashing  round  the  country  for  Mr. 
Manning,  when  I  know  that  Chink  is  making  opium 
pills  in  my  kitchen." 

But  Pen  was  not  to  be  distracted.  "What  can  I  do, 
Jane?  Must  I  just  sit  with  folded  hands  while  the  rest 
of  you  work?" 

"You  do  your  share  in  supplying  ideas,  Penelope," 
said  Jane. 

Pen  answered  with  a  little  sob,  "I  get  tired  of  that 
job !  I  want  to  be  on  the  firing  line,  just  once !" 

That  night  they  consulted  with  Oscar.  At  first  he 
was  very  hostile  to  the  thought  of  either  of  them  un 
dertaking  such  work.  Then  in  the  midst  of  his  tirade 
on  woman's  sphere,  he  stopped  with  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"And  I'm  a  fine  example  of  what  a  woman  can  do 


THE    SILENT    CAMPAIGN      305 

with  a  man  when  she  gets  busy!  All  right,  Jane,  go 
ahead.  Hanged  if  I  ain't  proud  of  you!  But  Mrs. 
Pen  is  hurting  the  cause.  The  women  folks  won't 
stand  for  you,  Mrs.  Pen ;  you  are  too  pretty." 

So  Pen  withdrew  from  the  campaign  and  Jane  and 
Bill  Evans  went  on  alone. 

When  Oscar  was  not  with  Jim,  he  brought  visitors 
to  the  dam.  These  visitors  were  farmers  and  business 
men  from  the  entire  Project.  Ames  was  careful  to 
time  the  visits,  so  that  about  the  time  he  strolled  up  to 
the  dam  site  with  the  callers,  Jim  would  be  on  his 
tour  of  inspection.  Oscar  would  then  follow  unosten 
tatiously  in  Jim's  wake,  but  close  enough  to  get  a  good 
idea  of  the  ground  that  Jim  covered.  Often  he  would 
make  Jim  stop  and  give  an  explanation  of  some  point 
the  visitors  could  not  understand.  Penelope,  con 
sumed  with  curiosity,  joined  the  touring  party  one 
day. 

"I  wish  you  could  see  him  in  full  action,"  Oscar  was 
saying.  "Like  the  day  of  the  flood  or  the  night  Dad 
Robins  was  killed.  He  can  handle  fifteen  hundred 
men  better'n  I  handle  my  three.  Now  you  watch  him. 
Those  there  fellows  he's  joshing  have  been  with  him 
seven  years.  You  ought  to  hear  their  stories  about 
driving  the  tunnel  up  on  the  Makon.  Say,  he'd  go 
right  in  with  'em.  Never  asked  'em  to  go  somewhere 
he  wouldn't  go  himself.  They  all  laugh  at  us  farmers, 
those  rough-necks.  Say,  we  don't  know  a  real  man 
when  we  see  one." 

The  bronzed  elderly  man  who  was  with  Oscar  lis 
tened  intently.  Oscar  went  on : 

"The  details  on  a  place  like  this  are  enough  to  drive 
a  man  crazy.  He  dassent  let  'em  pour  concrete  with- 


3o6  STILLJIM 

out  him  or  his  cement  expert  is  round.  If  the  rocks 
aren't  just  right  or  the  surface  of  the  section  isn't  just 
right  or  they  slip  up  a  little  on  the  mixture,  the  whole 
thing  will  go  to  thunder  some  day.  He's  got  to  spend 
ten  million  dollars  with  eighty  million  people  watching 
him  and  all  us  farmers  kicking  every  minute.  How'd 
you  like  his  job?" 

"He  was  over  at  my  place  the  other  day,"  said  the 
farmer.  "I  see  how  he  got  his  nickname.  But  he's 
awful  easy  to  talk  to.  I  got  to  telling  him  what  a  hard 
time  I  had  the  first  year  or  two  I  was  irrigating  alfalfa 
and  how  I  get  five  good  cuttings  a  year  now,  regular. 
He  wants  me  to  show  that  new  fellow  Hunt  how  I 
did  it.  Guess  I  will.  I  always  thought  Manning  hated 
the  farmers.  But  I  guess  he  was  just  busy  with  his 
own  troubles." 

Pen  fell  back  and  climbed  the  trail  to  a  point  where 
she  could  look  down  on  Jim.  He  was  listening  to  his 
master  mechanic,  interjecting  a  word  now  and  then  at 
which  his  subordinate  nodded  eagerly.  Pen  wondered 
sadly,  what  Jim  would  do  with  his  life  when  he  could 
no  longer  work  for  the  Projects.  The  thought  of  this 
sudden  thwarting  of  all  his  plans  haunted  her  and  she 
longed  almost  unbearably  to  talk  to  him  about  it,  but 
his  silence  on  the  subject  she  felt  that  she  must  respect. 
As  she  sauntered  on  along  the  trail  to  meet  Bill  Evans 
exploding  into  camp  with  the  mail,  she  was  thinking 
back  over  Jim's  life  and  of  how  much  of  it  had  been 
spent  in  listening  rather  than  in  speaking.  His  silence, 
she  thought,  was  a  part  of  his  great  personal  charm. 
From  it  his  companions  got  a  sense  of  a  keen,  sympa 
thetic  intelligence  focused  entirely  on  their  own  prob 
lems  that  was  very  attractive.  Somehow,  Pen  had 


THE    SILENT    CAMPAIGN      307 

faith  that  his  campaign  of  silence  would  defeat  Fleck- 
enstein. 

Bill  had  a  lone  passenger  in  his  tonneau.  Pen's 
pulse  quickened.  As  the  machine  reached  her  side, 
Bill  stopped  with  his  usual  flourish,  and  Uncle  Denny, 
without  waiting  to  open  the  door  which  was  fastened 
with  binding  wire,  climbed  out  over  the  front  seat. 

"Pen !  Pen !  The  door  of  me  heart  has  hung  sagging 
and  open  ever  since  you  left!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

UNCLE  DENNY  GETS  BUSY 

"Coyotes  breed  only  with  coyotes.     Men  talk   much 
of  pride  of  race,  yet  they  will  breed  with  any  color. 
MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

PEN  clung  to  Uncle  Denny  with  a  breathless  sob. 
She  had  not  realized  how  heavy  her  burden  was 
until  Uncle  Denny  had  come  to  share  it. 

"Uncle  Denny!  You  didn't  answer  my  telegram 
and  I  didn't  dare  hope  you  would  get  here." 

"Where  is  Jim,  Penny,  and  how  is  me  boy?" 

"I'll  take  you  to  him  now.  He  has  no  idea  of  your 
coming.  Bill,  we  will  walk.  Take  the  trunk  on  up  to 
Mr.  Manning's  house,  will  you?" 

"I  was  afraid  'twould  get  out  and  I  knew  he'd  never 
stand  for  me  coming  out  to  help.  That's  why  I  sent 
you  no  word,"  said  Uncle  Denny,  beginning  to  puff 
up  the  trail  beside  Pen. 

"He's  just  the  same  old  Jim,"  said  Pen,  "but  under 
a  terrific  strain  just  now,  of  course.  You  can  under 
stand  from  my  letters  just  how  great  that  is." 

"And  Sara?"  asked  Uncle  Denny. 

"Not  so  well,"  replied  Pen.  "He  is  very  quiet,  these 
days.  There  is  the  first  glimpse  of  the  dam,  Uncle 
Denny." 

Uncle  Denny  stopped  and  wiped  the  sweat  out  of  his 

308 


UNCLE  DENNY  GETS  BUSY  309 

eyes  with  his  silk  handkerchief.  He  gazed  in  silence 
for  a  moment  at  the  mammoth  foundations,  over 
which  the  workmen  ran  like  ants. 

"  'Twas  but  a  hole  in  the  ground  when  I  last  saw  it," 
he  said.  "Pen,  it's  so  big  you  can't  compass  it  in  your 
mind.  And  they  are  pecking  at  me  boy  while  he  builds 
mountains !" 

"There  he  is!"  exclaimed  Pen,  pointing  to  the  tower 
foot. 

"It  is !    It's  Still  Jim !    Is  me  collar  entirely  wilted  ?" 

Pen  laughed.  "Uncle  Denny,  you're  as  fussed  as  a 
girl  at  meeting  her  sweetheart!  You  look  beautiful 
and  you  know  it.  There !  He  sees  us !" 

Uncle  Denny  lost  a  little  of  his  color  and  stood  still. 
Jim  came  striding  down  the  road.  His  eyes  were  black 
with  feeling.  Without  a  word  he  threw  his  arms 
around  Uncle  Dennis  and  hugged  that  rotund  person 
off  his  feet. 

"Still  Jim,  me  boy!"  cried  Uncle  Denny.  "I've 
come  out  to  lick  the  world  for  ye !" 

Jim  loosened  his  bear  hug  and  stepped  back.  His 
smile  was  brilliant. 

"Uncle  Denny,  you  look  like  a  tailor's  ad !  Doesn't 
he,  little  Penelope?" 

There  was  something  in  Jim's  voice  as  he  spoke 
Pen's  name  that  Michael  Dennis  understood  as  clearly 
as  if  Jim  had  shouted  his  feeling  for  Pen  in  his  ear. 

"I'm  starving  to  death,"  he  said  hastily.  "Take  me 
home,  Still.  Come  along,  Pen." 

Mrs.  Flynn  was  surveying  the  trunk  as  it  stood  on 
end  in  the  living  room.  She  was  talking  rapidly  to 
herself  and  as  the  three  came  up  on  the  porch  she 
cried : 


310  STILL   JIM 

"I  said  'twas  you,  Mr.  Dennis!  I  told  myself  fifty 
times  'twas  your  trunk  and  still  myself  kept  contra 
dicting  me.  You  are  as  handsome  as  a  Donegal  dude. 
Leave  me  out  to  the  kitchen  till  I  get  an  early  supper!" 

After  supper  Jim  and  Dennis  sat  for  a  short  time 
over  their  pipes  before  Jim  left  for  some  office  work. 

"Tell  me  what  to  do  first,  Still,"  said  Uncle  Denny, 
"and  I'll  start  a  campaign  against  Fleckenstein  that'll 
turn  the  valley  upside  down.  That's  what  I  came  out 
for.  I'll  fix  them,  the  jackals!" 

"Uncle  Denny,  it  won't  do,"  answered  Jim  slowly. 
"The  uncle  of  a  Project  engineer  can't  carry  on  a  po 
litical  campaign  in  his  behalf.  You'd  just  get  me  in 
deeper  with  the  public." 

Uncle  Denny  stared.  "But  I  came  out  for  that  very 
thing." 

"I  thought  you  had  just  come  out  for  one  of  your 
usual  visits.  It  won't  do,  dear  Uncle  Denny.  I  can't 
say  anything  against  Fleckenstein  nor  must  you." 

"Me  boy,"  said  Michael  Dennis,  "all  the  public  sen 
timent  on  earth  can't  keep  me  from  fighting  Flecken 
stein.  Pen  sent  for  me  and  I'm  here." 

"Pen  sent  for  you?"  repeated  Jim.  "Why,  Pen 
should  not  have  done  that." 

"This  is  a  poor  welcome,  Jim,"  said  Uncle  Denny, 
immeasurable  reproach  in  his  voice. 

Jim  sprang  to  his  feet  and  put  a  long  brown  hand 
on  Uncle  Denny's  shoulder.  "You  can't  mean  that, 
Uncle  Denny.  It's  meat  and  drink  to  me  to  have  you 
here.  You  can't  doubt  it." 

"I  can't,  indeed,"  agreed  Dennis  heartily.  "And 
somehow,  I'm  going  to  help.  Go  get  your  work  done 
and  then  call  for  me  at  Pen's  house." 


UNCLE  DENNY  GETS  BUSY  311 

Jim  had  been  in  the  office  but  a  few  minutes  when  he 
came  out  again  and  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  canyon, 
staring  at  the  silhouette  of  the  Elephant  against  the 
night  stars.  After  a  moment  he  turned  up  the  trail 
toward  the  tent  house.  He  entered  without  ceremony 
and  stood  a  tall,  slender,  commanding  figure  against 
the  white  of  the  tent  wall.  His  eyes  were  big  and 
bright.  His  lips  were  stiff  as  he  looked  at  Sara  and 
said: 

"You  are  fully  even  now,  Saradokis.  I've  a  notion 
to  kill  you  as  I  would  a  rattler." 

The  tent  was  bright  with  lamplight.  The  red  and 
black  Navajo  across  Sara's  cot  was  as  motionless  over 
the  outline  of  his  great  legs  as  though  it  covered  a 
dead  man.  Uncle  Denny  stared  at  Jim  without  stir 
ring.  His  florid  face  paled  a  little  and  his  bright  Irish 
eyes  did  not  blink. 

Pen  could  see  a  tiny  patch  that  Mrs.  Flynn  had  put 
on  the  knee  of  Jim's  riding  breeches.  There  swept 
over  her  a  sudden  appreciation  of  Jim's  utter  simplicity 
and  sincerity  under  all  the  stupendous  responsibilities 
he  had  assumed  not  only  in  the  building  of  the  dam, 
but  in  his  less  tangible  building  for  the  nation.  As  he 
stood  before  them  she  saw  him  not  as  a  man  but  as  the 
boy  Uncle  Denny  often  had  described  to  her,  announc 
ing  the  vast  discovery  of  his  life  work.  Would  he,  had 
he  known  the  bitter  years  ahead  of  him,  have  chosen 
the  same,  she  wondered. 

"I  found  two  interesting  communications  in  my  mail 
tonight,"  said  Jim,  slowly.  "One  is  a  letter  from  the 
Washington  Office  containing  clippings  from  eastern 
papers.  Some  reporter  announces  that  he  has  discov 
ered  a  fully  developed  scheme  of  mine  and  Freet's  to 


312  STILL   JIM 

sell  out  to  the  Transatlantic  people.  He  gives  a  twisted 
version  of  the  conversation  here,  the  other  night,  that 
sounds  like  conclusive  evidence.  The  matter  is  so  well 
handled  that  even  the  Washington  office  is  convinced 
that  I'm  a  crook.  The  local  papers  will,  of  course, 
copy  this." 

Sara  did  not  stir.  Jim  moistened  his  lips.  "While  I 
knew  that  I  lived  under  a  cloud  of  suspicion/'  he 
said,  "I  thought  to  be  able  to  leave  the  Service  with 
nothing  worse  than  suspicion  on  my  name.  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  live  this  down.  Yet  this  is  not  the 
worst.  I  received  tonight  an  anonymous  letter.  It 
states  that  unless  I  drop  my  silent  campaign,  the  name 
of  the  wife  of  my  crippled  friend  will  be  coupled  with 
mine  in  an  unpleasant  manner." 

Pen's  eyes  were  for  a  moment  horror-stricken. 
Then  they  blazed  with  anger.  And  so  suddenly  that 
Jim  and  Dennis  hardly  saw  her  leave  her  chair.  She 
sprang  over  to  Sara's  couch  and  struck  him  across  the 
mouth  with  her  open  hand.  The  stillness  in  the  room 
for  a  second  was  complete,  except  that  Sara  breathed 
heavily  as  he  rose  to  his  elbow. 

"I  may  or  may  not  have  produced  the  newspaper 
copy,  but  so  help  me  the  God  I  have  blasphemed,  I 
have  never  used  Pen's  name,"  said  Sara. 

"But  you  have,"  said  Jim.  "You  used  it  before 
Freet.  You  probably  have  cursed  me  out  before  Fleck- 
enstein  as  you  did  before  him  and  Ames!" 

"And  there  was  my  trying  to  help  Jane  Ames  in 
the  valley!"  cried  Pen  suddenly.  "She's  talking  with 
the  farmers'  wives  for  Jim  and  I  went  with  her  until 
the  women  were  cattish.  Oh,  Jim,  what  have  we  done 
to  you,  Sara  and  I?" 


UNCLE   DENNY   GETS   BUSY     313 

"I  shall  have  to  give  up  the  fight  a  little  earlier,  that 
is  all,"  answered  Jim.  "Don't  feel  badly,  Pen.  If  I 
only  had  some  way  of  punishing  Sara  and  stopping  his 
mischief!  Though  it's  too  late  now." 

"Just  be  patient,  Jim,"  said  Sara.  "My  mischief 
will  soon  end." 

Pen  had  heard  only  Jim,  the  first  sentence  of  Jim's 
remarks.  She  stood  beside  the  table,  white  to  the 
lips.  "Jim,  if  you  want  to  wreck  my  life,  stop  the 
fight !  Do  you  suppose,  except  for  the  moment's  shame, 
I  care  what  they  say  about  me?  If  you  will  only  go 
on  with  your  fight,  Jim,  let  them  say  what  they  will. 

I  can  stand  it.  My  strength — my  strength "  Pen 

paused  with  a  little  sob,  as  if  Uncle  Denny  reminded 
her  of  her  girlhood  dreams,  "my  strength  is  in  the  eter 
nal  hills !" 

"I  have  lived  with  George  Saradokis  all  these 
years,"  Pen  went  on,  "and  he's  almost  broken  my  faith 
in  life.  When  I  found  I  could  help  you,  Jim,  I  thought 
that  I  was  making  up  for  some  of  the  wrong  of  my 
marriage.  I  even  thought  that  I'd  be  willing  to  go 
through  my  marriage  again  because  it  had  taught  me 
how  to  help  you  fight.  Jim,  it  will  ruin  my  life  if  you 
stop  now!" 

And  Pen  suddenly  dropped  her  face  in  her  hands 
and  broke  down  entirely.  Jim  never  had  seen  Pen  cry. 
He  took  a  step  toward  her,  then  looked  pitifully  at 
Uncle  Denny. 

Uncle  Denny  sprang  from  his  chair. 

"Go  on  out,  Jim,"  he  said.  Then  he  folded  Pen  in 
his  arms.  "Rest  here,  sweet,  tired  bird,"  he  said  in 
his  rich  voice.  "Rest  here,  for  I  love  you  with  all  me 
soul." 


3H  STILL   JIM 

Jim's  lips  quivered.  He  went  out  into  the  night 
and  once  more  climbed  the  Elephant's  back.  For  a 
long  time  he  sat,  too  exhausted  by  his  emotions  to 
think.  With  head  resting  on  his  arms,  he  let  the  night 
wind  sweep  across  him  until  little  by  little  his  brain 
cleared  and  he  looked  about  him.  Far  and  wide,  the 
same  wonder  of  the  desert  night ;  the  stars,  so  low,  so 
tender,  so  inscrutable,  the  sky  so  deep,  so  utterly  com 
passionate;  the  far  black  scratch  of  the  river  on  the  sil 
ver  desert,  the  distant  black  lift  of  the  mountains — 
Pen's  eternal  hills ! 

Over  the  flagpole  on  the  office  the  flag  rippled  and 
floated,  sank  and  rose,  dancing  like  a  child  in  the  joy 
of  living.  Jim  looked  at  it  wistfully.  Flag  that  his 
forefathers  had  fashioned  from  the  fabric  of  their 
vision,  must  the  vision  be  forgotten?  It  was  a  great 
vision,  fit  to  cover  the  yearnings  of  the  world.  His 
grandfather  had  fought  for  it  at  Antietam.  His 
father  had  lost  it  and  had  died,  bewildered  and  hun 
gry  of  soul.  Was  he  himself  to  lose  it,  son  of  vision 
seekers  ? 

The  Elephant  beneath  him  seemed  to  listen  for  Jim's 
reply.  "God  knows,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  would  not 
deny  the  vision  to  all  the  immigrant  world.  All  I  wish 
is  that  we  who  made  the  vision  had  kept  it  and  had 
taught  it  to  these  others  to  whom  our  heritage  must 
go.  You  can  scoff,  old  Elephant,  but  the  struggle  is 
worth  while.  You  can  say  that  nothing  matters  but 
Time.  I  tell  you  that  eternity  is  made  up  of  soul  fights 
like  mine  and  Pen's !" 

Suddenly  there  came  to  him  the  fragment  that  Pen 
had  quoted  to  him  days  before : 


UNCLE  DENNY  GETS  BUSY  315 

"What  though  the  field  be  lost? 
All  is  not  lost — the  unconquerable  will, 
And  courage  never  to  submit  nor  yield; 
And  what  is  else,  not  to  be  overcome!" 

Jim  suddenly  rose  with  his  blood  quickened.  "Not 
to  be  overcome!  And  God,  what  stakes  to  fight  for! 
To  build  my  father's  dream  in  stone  and  to  make  a 
valley  empire  out  of  the  tragedy  of  a  woman's  soul!" 

With  renewed  strength  Jim  went  down  the  trail, 
crossed  the  canyon  and  went  up  to  his  house. 

Uncle  Denny  was  waiting  for  him.  It  was  nearly 
midnight.  He  had  kindled  a  fire  in  the  grate  and  was 
brewing  some  tea.  "Mrs.  Flynn  would  have  it  you'd 
fallen  off  a  peak  but  I  got  her  to  bed.  Have  some  tea, 
me  boy." 

Uncle  Denny's  voice  was  cheerful,  though  his  eyes 
were  red.  He  watched  Jim  anxiously. 

"You  should  have  gone  to  bed  yourself,  Uncle 
Denny.  I  have  a  letter  to  write,  then  I'm  going  to 
turn  in." 

Uncle  Denny's  hand  shook  as  he  poured  the  tea. 
"I  had  to  see  you,  Still,  because  I  promised  Pen  I'd 
go  back  over  there  tonight  and  tell  her  what  your  de 


cision  was." 


Jim  caught  up  his  hat.     "I'll  go !" 

But  Uncle  Denny  laid  his  hand  on  Jim's  arm.  "No, 
me  boy.  Pen's  had  all  she  can  stand  tonight.  I'll 
take  her  your  word.  What  shall  it  be,  Still?" 

Jim  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table.  "Tell  her, 
with  her  help,  Fll  keep  up  the  fight!" 

Uncle  Denny's  blue  eyes  blazed.  "I'm  prouder  of 
the  two  of  you  than  I  am  of  me  Irish  name,"  he  said, 
and,  seizing  his  hat,  he  hurried  out. 


316  STILL    JIM 

While  he  was  gone  Jim  wrote  this  note : 

"My  dear  Mr.  Secretary : — Some  time  ago  I  wrote 
you  that  I  did  not  think  an  engineer  should  be  asked 
to  build  the  dam  and  at  the  same  time  handle  the  hu 
man  problems  connected  with  the  Project.  Subsequent 
events  lead  me  to  believe  that  as  your  letter  suggests  it 
is  the  duty  of  the  government  to  look  on  these  Pro 
jects  not  as  engineering  problems  so  much  as  the  build 
ing  of  small  democracies  that  may  become  the  living 
nuclei  for  the  rebirth  of  all  that  America  once  stood 
for.  I  do  not  believe  that  I  am  big  enough  for  such  a 
job,  but  I  am  putting  up  a  fight.  I  have  been  asked 
to  resign  within  a  few  weeks  from  now.  I  think,  look 
ing  at  the  matter  from  the  point  of  view  I  have  just 
expressed,  that  I  am  dismissed  with  justice.  This  let 
ter  is  to  ask  you  to  see  that  my  successor  is  chosen  with 
the  care  that  you  would  give  to  the  founder  of  a 
colony." 

Uncle  Denny  returned  and  waited  until  Jim  had  fin 
ished  his  letter.  Then  he  said : 

"Sara  spoke  just  once  after  you  left.  He  denied 
any  knowledge  of  the  anonymous  letter." 

"I'm  going  to  put  it  up  to  Fleckenstein,"  said  Jim. 
"The  newspaper  dope,  of  course,  was  Sara's.  I  can 
only  ignore  that  except  to  answer  any  questions  the 
farmers  may  put  to  me  about  it.  How  is  Pen?" 

"She  cried  it  out  on  me  shoulder  after  you  left  and 
felt  better  for  the  tears.  Your  message  will  send  her 
to  sleep.  Still  Jim,  if  I  had  a  jury  of  atheists  and 
could  put  Pen  on  the  stand  and  make  her  give  her  phil 
osophy  as  she  has  sweated  it  out  of  her  young  soul,  I 
could  make  them  all  believe  in  the  eternal  God  and  His 


UNCLE   DENNY   GETS   BUSY     317 

mighty  plans.  To  be  bigger  than  circumstance,  that's 
the  acid  test  for  human  character." 

Jim  nodded  and  looked  into  the  fire.  This  sugges 
tion  that  he  might  be  the  instrument  of  a  mighty  plan, 
he  and  Pen  and  Uncle  Denny,  awed  him.  Uncle 
Denny  eyed  the  fine  drooping  brown  head  for  a  mo 
ment. 

"Ah,  me  boy!  Me  boy!"  he  said  tenderly.  "The 
old  house  at  Exham  is  not  a  futile  ruin.  'Tis  the 
cocoon  that  gave  birth  to  the  butterfly  wings  of  a  great 
hope.  Look  up,  Still!  You've  friends  with  you  till 
the  end  of  the  fight." 

Jim  reached  for  Michael  Dennis'  hand  and  held  it 
with  both  his  own,  while  he  said :  "Stay  with  me  for  a 
month  or  two,  Uncle  Denny.  Don't  go  away.  I  need 
you.  I've  neither  wife  nor  father  and  I  haven't  the 
gift  of  speech  that  makes  a  man  friends." 

Jim  was  off  the  next  morning  before  daylight. 
Uncle  Denny  slept  late  and  while  he  was  eating  his 
breakfast,  the  ex-saloonkeeper,  Murphy,  came  in. 

"The  Big  Boss  sent  me  up  to  spend  the  day  with 
you,  Mr.  Dennis.  He  can't  get  back  till  late  in  the 
afternoon.  He  told  me  to  talk  Project  politics  to  you. 
My  name  is  Murphy.  I'm  timekeeper  down  below, 
but  I've  left  the  job  for  a  while  for  reasons  of  my 
own." 

Uncle  Denny  pulled  a  chair  out  for  Murphy  and 
looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 

"Do  you  know  this  jackal,  Fleckenstein  ?" 

"I  do.  The  Boss  showed  me  that  letter.  I  suppose 
you  know  how  a  man  like  Mr.  Manning  would  take  to 
a  fellow  like  Fleckenstein  ?" 


3i8  STILL   JIM 

"Know !"  snorted  Uncle  Denny.  "Why,  young  fel 
low,  I'd  know  Jim's  disembodied  soul  if  I  met  it  in  an 
uninhabited  desert." 

Murphy  raised  his  eyebrows.  "You're  Irish,  I  take 
it." 

"You  take  it  right." 

"I  was  born  in  Dublin  myself." 

The  two  men  shook  hands  and  Murphy  went  on.  "I 
told  the  Boss  to  forget  that  letter.  I  know  Flecken- 
stein.  I  know  all  his  secrets  just  as  I  do  about  every 
other  man's  in  the  valley.  I  know  their  shames  and 
their  business  grafts.  In  fact  I  know  everything  but 
the  best  side  of  'em.  I've  been  in  the  saloon  business 
in  this  valley  for  twenty  years,  Mr.  Dennis." 

"Ah!"  said  Uncle  Denny.     "I  understand  now!" 

"All  I've  got  to  do,"  said  Murphy,  "is  to  drop  in  on 
Fleckenstein  and  mention  this  letter  and  suggest  that 
my  own  information  is  what  you  might  call  detailed. 
'Twill  be  enough." 

"Of  course,  it  might  not  be  Fleckenstein,"  said 
Dennis. 

"Never  mind!  My  warning  will  reach  the  proper 
party,  if  I  go  to  Fleckenstein,"  said  Murphy.  He 
smacked  his  lips  over  the  cup  of  coffee  Mrs.  Flynn  set 
before  him. 

"And  how  came  you  to  be  helping  the  Boss  instead 
of  distributing  booze?"  asked  Uncle  Denny. 

"I  was  about  ready  to  quit,  anyhow,"  said  Murphy. 
"A  man  gets  sick  of  crooked  deals  if  you  give  him 
time.  And  time  was  when  a  man  could  keep  a  saloon 
in  this  section  and  still  be  the  leading  citizen  and  his 
wife  could  hold  up  her  head  with  the  banker's  wife. 
That  time's  gone.  I've  been  thinking  for  a  long  time 


UNCLE  DENNY  GETS  BUSY  319 

of  marrying  and  settling  down.  Then  the  Boss  cleaned 
me  out."     Murphy  chuckled. 

"How  was  that?"  asked  Dennis.  Mrs.  Flynn  began 
to  clear  the  table  very  slowly. 

"Well,  this  is  the  way  of  it,"  and  Murphy  told  the 
story  of  his  first  meeting  with  Jim.  "I've  seen  him  in 
action,  you  see,"  he  concluded,  "and  I'd  be  sorry  for 
Fleckenstein  if  he  crosses  the  Boss's  path." 

"Jim'll  never  trouble  himself  to  kick  the  jackal!" 
said  Uncle  Denny. 

"Huh!  You  don't  know  that  boy.  There  was  a 
look  in  his  eye  this  morning — God  help  Fleckenstein  if 
he  meets  the  Big  Boss — but  he'll  avoid  the  Boss  like 
poison." 

Uncle  Denny  shook  his  head.  "What  kind  is  Fleck 
enstein?" 

"What  kind  of  a  man  would  be  countenancing  a 
letter  like  that?"  Then  Murphy  laughed.  "The  first 
time  I  ever  saw  Fleckenstein  he  was  riding  in  the  stage 
that  ran  west  from  Cabillo.  Bill  Evans  was  driving 
and  Fleckenstein  got  to  knocking  this  country  and  tell 
ing  about  the  real  folks  back  East.  Bill  stood  it  for 
an  hour,  then  he  turned  round  and  said :  'Why,  damn 
your  soul,  we  make  better  men  than  you  in  this  coun 
try  out  of  binding  wire!  What  do  you  say  to  that?' 
And  Fleckenstein  shut  up." 

Uncle  Denny  chuckled.  "Have  a  cigar?  Is  Jim 
making  any  headway  in  this  'silent  campaign'  I'm 
hearing  about?" 

"Thanks,"  said  Murphy.  "Well,  he  is  and  he  ain't. 
He's  got  a  great  personality  and  everybody  who  gets 
his  number  will  eat  sand  for  him.  He  made  a  great 
speech  at  Cabillo,  time  of  the  Hearing.  He  said  the 


320  STILL    JIM 

dam  was  his  thumb-print — kind  of  like  the  mounds 
the  Injuns  left,  I  guess.  People  are  kind  of  coupling 
that  speech  up  now  with  him  when  they  meet  him  and 
they  are  beginning  to  have  their  doubts  about  his  dis 
honesty.  But  I  don't  believe  he  can  get  his  other  idea 
across  on  the  farmers  and  rough-necks  in  time  to  lick 
Fleckenstein." 

"And  what  is  his  other  idea?"  asked  Dennis. 

Murphy  smoked  and  stared  into  space  for  a  time 
before  he  answered.  "I  can  best  tell  you  that  by 
giving  you  an  incident.  I  went  with  Ames  and  the 
Boss  while  he  called  on  a  farmer  named  Marshall. 
Marshall  is  a  bright  man  and  no  drinker.  He  has  been 
loud  in  his  howls  about  the  Boss  being  incompetent  and 
kicking  about  the  farmer  having  to  pay  the  building 
charges.  Marshall  was  cleaning  his  buckboard  and  the 
Boss,  sort  of  easy  like,  picks  up  a  brush  and  starts  to 
brush  the  cushion. 

"  'My  father  used  to  make  me  sweep  the  chicken 
coop,'  says  the  Boss.  'We  were  too  poor  to  keep  a 
horse.  If  I  couldn't  build  a  dam  better  than  I  used  to 
sweep  that  coop,  I'd  deserve  all  you  folks  say  about 
me.' 

"He  says  this  so  sort  of  sad  like  that  Marshall  can't 
help  laughing,  and  he  starts  in  telling  how  he  used  to 
sojer  when  he  was  a  kid.  And  once  started,  with  the 
Boss  looking  like  his  heart  would  melt  out  of  his  eyes, 
Marshall  kept  it  up  till  the  whole  of  his  life  lay  before 
the  Boss  like  an  illustrated  Sunday  Supplement. 

"  'You've  had  great  experiences,'  says  the  Boss. 
'I've  not  had  much  experience  in  dealing  with  men  as 
you  have.  I'm  wondering  if  you  would  help  me  get  this 
idea  across  with  the  folks  round  here.  I  want  them  to 


UNCLE  DENNY  GETS  BUSY  321 

see  this;  that  America  has  never  made  a  more  mag 
nificent  experiment  to  see  if  us  folks  can  handle  our 
own  big  business  and  pay  a  debt  contracted  by  our 
selves.  I'd  like  to  see  this  done,  Marshall,'  he  says  sad 
like,  'as  a  sort  of  last  legacy  of  the  New  England 
spirit,  for  we  old  New  Englanders  are  going,  Mar 
shall,  same  as  the  buffalo  and  the  Indian/ 

"Something  about  the  way  he  said  it  sort  of  made 
your  eyes  sting  and  Marshall  says,  rough-like,  'I'll 
think  it  over  and  I'd  just  as  soon  tell  what  you  said  to 
the  neighbors.'  Then,  while  the  Boss  went  up  to  the 
house  to  get  a  drink  of  water,  Marshall  says  to  us, 
'He's  got  a  good  shaped  head.  I  wouldn't  a  made  so 
many  fool  cracks  about  him  if  I'd  known  he  could  be 
so  sort  of  friendly  and  decent.'  ' 

During  this  recital,  Mrs.  Flynn  had  drawn  near  and 
now  with  eyes  on  Murphy  she  was  absently  polishing 
the  teaspoons  with  the  dustcloth. 

"Why  don't  you  send  some  of  those  folks  to  me?" 
she  cried.  "I'd  tell  'em  a  thing  or  two  about  the  Big 
Boss.  There's  a  letter  over  there  now  on  the  desk 
from  the  German  government,  asking  him  questions 
and  offering  him  a  job.  Incompetent!" 

"How  do  you  know  what's  in  the  letter,  Mrs. 
Flynn?"  asked  Uncle  Denny,  with  a  wink  at  Murphy. 

"Because  I  read  it,"  returned  Mrs.  Flynn,  with 
shameless  candor.  "Somebody's  got  to  keep  track  of 
the  respects  that's  paid  that  poor  boy  or  nobody'd  ever 
know  it.  God  knows  I  hate  the  Dutch,  but  they  know 
a  good  man  when  they  hear  of  one  better  than  the 
Americans.  And  I  wish  you  two'd  get  out  of  here 
while  I  set  the  table  for  dinner." 

The  two  men  laughed  and  got  their  hats.    "I'll  meet 


322  STILLJIM 

you  at  the  office  shortly,"  said  Uncle  Denny.  "I've  a 
call  to  make." 

Pen  was  sitting  on  the  doorstep  when  Uncle  Denny 
came  up.  She  was  looking  very  tired  and  her  cheeks 
were  flushed.  She  rose  and  led  him  away  from  the 
tent. 

"Sara  is  very  sick,  Uncle  Denny.  I've  given  him 
some  morphine,  but  he'll  be  coming  out  of  it  soon. 
Will  you  telephone  from  the  office  for  the  doctor?" 

"Is  it  the  same  old  pain?"  asked  Dennis. 

"Yes,  only  worse.  I — I  am  to  blame,  in  a  way.  He 
has  been  growing  worse  lately  and  any  excitement  is 
dreadful  for  him.  And  then,  I  struck  him,  Uncle 
Denny!  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for  that.  And 
yet,  this  morning  he  laughed  at  it.  He  said  he  never 
had  thought  so  much  of  me  as  he  had  for  that  slap." 

Uncle  Denny  nodded.  "He's  deserved  it  a  hundred 
times,  Penny !  That  never  made  him  worse.  But  this 
is  no  place  for  him.  When  I  go  back  to  New  York, 
you  and  he  must  go  with  me." 

"Yes,  I  have  felt  the  same  way,  about  the  excitement 
here.  We'll  go  when  you  say,  Uncle  Denny." 

"Is  the  doctor  here  a  good  one?" 

"Splendid!  A  Johns  Hopkins  man  here  for  his 
health." 

"What  else  can  I  do?"  asked  Uncle  Denny.  "Shall 
I  come  in  and  sit  with  him?" 

"No;  ask  Mrs.  Flynn  to  come  over  after  dinner. 
You  go  out  and  see  the  dam  and  be  proud  of  your 
boy." 

"And  of  me  girl,"  said  Uncle  Denny.  He  had  been 
standing  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  now  he  bent  and 
kissed  Pen's  cheek. 


UNCLE  DENNY  GETS  BUSY  323 

"Erin  go  bragh!"  said  Pen.  "Uncle  Denny,  I'm 
tired!  I  feel  as  if  I  were  running  on  one  cylinder  and 
three  punctured  tires.  I  have  to  talk  that  way  after 
my  close  association  with  Bill  Evans!" 

Uncle  Denny  had  a  delightful  trip  over  the  Project 
with  Murphy.  He  dined  with  the  upper  mess  so  that 
Mrs.  Flynn  could  devote  herself  to  Pen.  After  eating, 
he  started  down  the  great  road  to  the  tower  foot  to 
meet  Murphy. 

Before  he  came  to  the  tower,  however,  he  came  on 
a  group  of  men  hovering  over  the  canyon  edge.  Uncle 
Denny  gave  an  exclamation  of  pity.  A  mule  with  a 
pack  on  its  back  had  slipped  off  the  road  and  hung  far 
below  by  the  rope  halter  that  had  caught  around  a  pro 
jecting  rock.  The  hombre  who  had  been  driving  the 
mule  had  gone  for  ropes. 

"See  how  still  he  keeps,  the  old  cuss,"  said  Jack 
Henderson  gently.  "A  horse  would  have  kicked  him 
self  to  death  long  ago.  That  mule  knows  just  what's 
holding  him.  A  mule  forgets  more  in  a  minute  than  a 
horse  knows  in  a  year." 

Uncle  Denny  almost  wept.  The  mule  pressed  his 
helpless  forelegs  against  the  wall  and  except  that  he 
panted  with  fright  and  that  his  ears  moved  back  and 
forth  as  he  listened  for  his  hombre's  voice,  he  was 
motionless.  His  liquid  eyes  were  fastened  on  the 
group  above  with  an  appeal  that  touched  every  man 
there. 

"What  can  you  do  for  the  poor  brute !"  cried  Uncle 
Denny. 

"Wait  till  the  hombre  gets  back,"  said  Henderson. 
"If  he  can  hang  on  that  long,  we  can  save  him.  Noth 
ing  like  this  happens  to  a  mule  very  often.  You  can't 


324  STILL   JIM 

get  a  mule  to  try  a  trail  that  isn't  wide  enough  for  his 
pack.  They  can  reason,  the  old  fools!  Bill  Evans' 
auto  shoved  this  fellow  over.  The  stearing  gear 
broke." 

At  this  moment  a  panting  hombre  arrived  with  two 
coils  of  rope.  The  men  hastily  fastened  one  rope  un 
der  the  Mexican's  arms.  He  seized  the  other  and  they 
lowered  him  into  the  canyon.  He  talked  to  the  mule 
in  soft  Spanish  all  the  way  down  and  the  great  beast 
began  to  answer  him  with  deep  groans.  With  in 
finite  care,  the  hombre  cut  the  packs  loose  and  they 
went  crashing  into  the  river  bed.  Still  the  mule  did 
not  move.  His  driver  carefully  made  the  rope  fast 
round  the  mule.  The  waiting  men  then  drew  the  little 
Mexican  up,  and  when  he  was  safe  all  hands,  includ 
ing  Uncle  Denny,  drew  the  mule  up.  When  the  big 
gray  reached  the  road,  he  tried  each  leg  with  a  gentle 
shake,  walked  over  to  the  inside  edge  of  the  road  and 
lifted  his  voice  in  a  bray  that  shook  the  heavens. 

The  men  laughed  and  patted  him.  "When  I  was  in 
the  Verde  river  country  one  spring,  years  ago,"  said 
Henderson,  in  his  tender,  singing  voice,  "I  had  a  mule 
train  up  in  the  hills.  They  was  none  of  them  broke 
and  they  wouldn't  cross  the  river  till  I  took  off  my 
clothes  and  swam  with  'em,  one  at  a  time.  It  was 
fearful  cold.  The  water  was  just  melted  snow  and  I 
was  some  mad.  But  I  finally  got  all  but  one  across. 
He  was  a  big  gray  like  this.  I  was  so  cold  and  so  hun 
gry  and  so  mad,  I  tied  his  head  up  a  tree  and  swam  off 
and  left  him  to  die. 

"I  made  camp  across  the  river  and  two  or  three 
times  in  the  night  I  woke  up  and  thought  of  that  old 
gray  mule.  I  was  still  sore  at  him,  but  I  made  up  my 


UNCLE   DEN  NY   GETS   BUSY     325 

mind  I  wouldn't  go  off  and  leave  him  to  starve  to 
death,  that  I'd  shoot  him  in  the  morning.  But  in  the 
morning  I  got  to  looking  at  him  and  I  was  afraid  a 
shot  from  across  the  river  would  just  wound  him.  I 
wouldn't  risk  my  gun  again  in  the  water,  so  I  takes 
off  my  clothes,  takes  my  knife  in  my  teeth  and/'  Hen 
derson's  voice  was  very  sweet  as  he  scratched  the 
mule's  ear,  "and  swims  back  to  cut  his  throat.  When 
I  got  up  to  him  I  cussed  him  out  good.  And  I  says, 
'I'll  give  you  one  more  chance.  Either  you  swim  or  I 
cut  your  throat.'  I  untied  him  and  that  old  gray 
walked  down  to  the  water's  edge  and  you'd  ought  to 
see  him  hustle  in  and  swim !  He'd  reasoned  out  I  was 
a  man  of  my  word !" 

Jim  had  come  up  in  time  to  hear  the  story  and  when 
Henderson  had  finished  he  said :  "I've  always  claimed 
it  was  the  mules  that  built  the  government  dams. 
What  would  we  have  done  with  our  fearful  trails  and 
distance  and  heavy  freight  without  the  mule?  Some 
day  when  I  get  time,  I'll  write  a  rhapsody  on  the 
mule." 

The  men  laughed  and  made  way  for  the  doctor  on 
his  horse.  But  the  doctor  stopped  and  spoke  very 
gravely  to  Uncle  Denny. 

"Mrs.  Saradokis  wants  you.  Her  husband  is  very 
low." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

SARA  GOES  ON  A  JOURNEY 

"Love  is  the  speaking  voice  of  the  Great  Hunger. 
Happy  the  human  who  has  found  one  great  love.  All 
nature  speaks  in  him  profoundly." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

JIM  started  up  the  road  but  Mr.  Dennis  stopped 
long  enough  to  say,  "Oughtn't  you  to  be  there, 
doctor?" 

The  doctor  nodded.  "I'll  be  back  as  soon  as  I  can. 
They've  just  brought  an  hombre  with  a  crushed  leg 
into  the  hospital.  Mrs.  Flynn  knows  what  to  do  and 
so  does  his  wife.  He  may  go  any  time." 

Uncle  Denny  panted  after  Jim,  but  before  they 
reached  the  tent  house,  Mrs.  Flynn  stopped  them  on 
the  trail. 

"It's  all  over,"  she  said.  "I've  taken  Mrs.  Penelope 
over  to  our  house.  I'll  take  charge  up  here." 

"You  don't  mean  Saradokis  is  dead?"  cried  Uncle 
Denny. 

"He  is,  God  rest  his  poor  wicked  soul !" 

Jim  stood  white  and  rigid.  "Did  I  hasten  this  with 
my  scene  last  night,  I  wonder!"  he  asked  huskily. 

Mrs.  Flynn  shook  her  head.  "The  doctor  told  me 
a  month  ago  not  to  go  out  of  reach  of  the  tent  house. 

326 


SARA   GOES  ON   A  JOURNEY    327 

That  this  was  liable  to  come  any  time.  He  came  out 
of  the  morphine  near  noon,  held  Mrs.  Pen's  hand  and 
said  she  had  slapped  a  lot  of  the  bitterness  out  of  his 
heart  last  night.  Then  he  went  to  sleep  and  never 
woke  up.  Mr.  Dennis,  you  go  to  Mrs.  Penelope.  Boss, 
you  go  and  do  the  telegraphing  that's  necessary." 

It  was  supper  time  before  Jim  could  leave  the  busi 
ness  of  the  dam  and  get  up  to  his  house.  He  and 
Uncle  Denny  had  finished  supper  when  Pen  came  out 
of  Mrs.  Flynn's  room.  She  was  white  and  spent,  but 
she  had  not  been  crying. 

"Still,"  she  said,  "I  want  you  to  persuade  Uncle 
Denny  not  to  go  back  East  with  me  and  poor  Sara.  I 
am  perfectly  well  and  quite  able  to  make  the  trip  alone. 
Uncle  Denny  is  needed  here." 

"It's  not  to  be  thought  of !"  cried  Dennis.  "When 
the  first  shock  is  over  I'm  looking  for  you  to  go  to 
pieces  and  I  propose  to  be  on  the  job." 

"Uncle  Denny,"  said  Pen  quietly,  "I  shall  not  go  to 
pieces.  I  feel  the  tragedy  of  Sara's  life  very  deeply 
and  I  am  very  sad  over  it  all.  But  I'm  not  a  widow. 
I'm  a  nurse  and  friend  whose  job  is  over.  It  will  be 
a  pitiful  journey  to  take  Sara  back  to  his  father.  But 
I  shall  be  with  dear  Aunt  Mary  in  New  York.  I  shall 
get  no  rest  unless  I  know  that  you  are  with  Jim  in  this 
critical  moment  of  his  career." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  uncertainly. 
Suddenly  Pen's  voice  shook:  "Oh,  don't  make  me 
argue !" 

Jim  spoke  slowly :  "We  never  have  regretted  doing 
what  Pen  told  us  to,  Uncle  Denny.  It  looks  heartless, 
but  I  guess  we'll  have  to  obey." 

"Me  soul  in  me  is  like  a  whirling  Dervish,"  said 


328  STILL   JIM 

Uncle  Denny,  "with  both  of  you  needing  me  so.  You'll 
have  to  decide  betwixt  you." 

"Then  Uncle  Denny  will  stay  here  and  we  will  take 
you  over  for  the  five  o'clock  morning  train,  Pen.  Mrs. 
Flynn  has  packed  your  trunk  and  poor  Sara  is  ready 
for  his  last  trip.  When  shall  we  look  for  your  return, 
little  Penelope?" 

Pen  looked  a  little  bewildered.  "Why,  there  is  no 
excuse  for  my  coming  back.  I  shall  stay  with  your 
mother  until  I  get  rested  and  then  I  must  find  some 
thing  to  do." 

Uncle  Denny  jumped  up  and  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  fireplace  while  Jim  leaned  on  the  back  of  Pen's 
chair. 

"Listen  to  me,  children,"  said  Dennis.  "Of  what 
use  is  it  to  beat  about  the  bush  and  refuse  to  speak 
what's  in  the  heart  of  each  of  us?  How  can  we  pre 
tend  that  poor  Sara's  death  is  not  God's  own  relief  to 
him  and  us?  We  can  weep,  as  Pen  says,  over  the 
tragedy  of  his  life,  but  not  that  he  is  gone.  Your 
talk  of  going  to  work  is  nonsense,  me  sweet  Pen. 
After  a  few  months  you  will  marry  Jim  and  have  the 
happiness  you  have  earned  so  dearly." 

Jim  did  not  move.  Pen's  pale  face  turned  scarlet. 
"Oh,  Uncle  Denny,"  she  cried,  "don't  talk  to  me  of 
marriage !  I  love  Jim  dearly,  but  now  this  is  all  over  I 
have  left  only  a  deadly  fear  of  marriage !" 

"Pen!  Pen!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Denny.  "What  do 
you  know  of  marriage?  For  every  unhappy  marriage 
we  hear  of  there  are  three  of  such  sweet  companion 
ship  that  its  sharers  hide  it  from  the  world  as  if  'twere 
too  sacred  for  the  common  gaze.  The  perfect  friend 
ship  is  between  man  and  woman  and  when  you  add  to 


SARA   GOES   ON   A  JOURNEY    329 

that  the  sacrament  of  body  and  soul,  you  have  the  only 
heaven  humans  may  know  on  earth.  And  'tis  enough. 
'Tis  full  compensation  for  all  the  ills  of  life." 

"Jane  Ames  has  been  talking  to  me  that  way  lately," 
said  Pen,  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  "But  you  nor  she 
never  really  had  your  dreams  destroyed  as  I  have." 
She  paused  and  went  on  as  if  half  to  herself :  "And 
yet  nothing  has  come  into  my  life  so  revivifying  and 
wholesome  as  Oscar  and  Jane's  finding  each  other  after 
all  these  years.  Perhaps  there  is  something  in  mar 
riage  I  don't  know.  Jane  says  there  is.  But — Oh,  I 
am  so  tired !" 

Jim  moved  round  to  Uncle  Denny's  side.  "It's  good 
of  Uncle  Denny  to  plead  for  me,  isn't  it,  Penny?  But 
you  are  in  no  state  now  to  listen  to  him  or  me,  either. 
Go  back  to  mother,  and  don't  work,  but  play.  You've 
forgotten  how  to  play.  I  remember  that  long  ago 
when  Uncle  Denny  wanted  mother  to  marry  him  he 
told  her  that  marrying  him  would  give  me  my  chance 
to  play,  that  I  couldn't  come  to  my  full  strength  with 
out  play.  Grown-ups  need  play,  too,  little  Pen.  Go 
back  for  a  while  and  rest  and  take  up  your  tennis  again 
and  go  to  Coney  Island  with  mother.  Go  and  play, 
Penny.  And  some  day  I'll  come  back  and  play  with 
you." 

Pen  gave  a  little  sigh.  Suddenly  her  tense  nerves 
relaxed  and  she  settled  back  in  her  chair  with  a  little 
color  in  her  cheeks. 

Uncle  Denny  cleared  his  throat.  "Tell  Mrs.  Flynn 
to  fetch  her  some  tea  and  toast,  me  boy.  Then  she 
must  go  to  bed  for  a  few  hours." 

The  automobile,  with  Henderson  at  the  wheel,  was 
at  the  door  before  dawn.  Jim  had  sent  poor  Sara  on 


330  STILL    JIM 

before  midnight.  Uncle  Denny  put  Pen  and  Jim  into 
the  tonneau,  then  climbed  up  beside  Henderson  and 
the  machine  shot  swiftly  out  on  the  great  road. 

Pen  did  not  speak  for  some  time  and  Jim  did  not 
disturb  her.  She  looked  back  at  the  Elephant  as  long 
as  she  could  discern  the  great  meditative  form  in  the 
starlight.  Then,  after  they  had  gotten  into  the  hills 
and  were  winging  like  night  birds  up  the  mountain 
road,  Jim  felt  a  cold  little  hand  slip  into  his  lean,  warm 
paw. 

Jim's  heart  gave  a  thud.  He  leaned  forward  to  look 
into  Pen's  face.  It  was  dim  in  the  starlight,  but  he  saw 
that  she  smiled  slightly.  Jim  leaned  back,  feeling  as  if 
he  could  overturn  worlds  with  this  thrill  in  his  veins. 

The  great  road  curled  like  a  hair  among  the  dim 
black  mountain  tops.  The  machine  flew  lightly.  Uncle 
Denny  and  Henderson  talked  quietly,  and  at  last,  under 
cover  of  their  speech  and  the  whirr  of  the  engine, 
Pen  began  to  talk  softly  to  Jim. 

"I  am  hoping  that  in  the  years  to  come  I  can  re 
member  Sara  as  a  college  boy,  so  full  of  life  and  ambi 
tion!  He  was  a  beautiful  boy,  Still,  wasn't  he?" 

"Yes,  little  Pen,  I  loved  him  very  much,  then." 

"Life  was  unfair  to  him  to  give  him  a  greater  bur 
den  than  he  was  designed  to  bear,"  said  Pen.  "I  shall 
miss  the  care  of  him.  I  am  going  to  miss  the  de 
mands  he  made  on  my  best  spiritual  effort.  I'm  going 
to  sag  like  a  fiddle  string  released.  If  only  he  has 
gone  on  now  to  a  better  chance !  Poor,  poor  tortured 
Sara!" 

Jim  rubbed  the  little  twitching  fingers  and  Pen 
leaned  against  his  shoulder  softly  as  though  she  needed 


SARA   GOES   ON    A   JOURNEY     331 

his  nearness  to  steady  her.      She  went  on  a  little 
brokenly : 

"'Envy  and  calumny  and  hate  and  pain 
And  that  unrest  which  men  miscall  delight 
Can  touch  him  not  and  torture  not  again ' 

"I  guess  I  won't  get  over  the  scarring,  Still.  I'm  so 
tired." 

"You've  the  priceless  gift  of  youth,  dear  Penny," 
said  Jim  softly.  "Go  and  play,  sweetheart." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Dawn  was  marching  on 
the  mountain  tops.  Penelope  watched  the  silver  glory 
of  the  star-studded  sky  and  she  said  in  a  steadier  tone : 

"  'Life  like  a  dome  of  many  colored  glass 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  Eternity 
Until  death  tramples  it  to  fragments ' " 

A  sudden  scarlet  revealed  itself  on  a  far  peak.  It 
was  like  a  marvelous  translucent  ruby,  set  in  a  silver 
mist. 

Uncle  Denny  turned.  "Henderson  says  we  are  right 
on  the  railroad." 

"We  are,"  replied  Jim,  "and  yonder  is  the  train." 

The  automobile  drew  into  the  station  with  the  train 
and  Uncle  Denny,  with  Henderson,  helped  embark 
poor  Sara  on  his  last  ride,  while  Jim  put  Pen  aboard 
the  train.  Pen  followed  Jim  back  onto  the  train  plat 
form.  Jim  shook  hands  with  her  and  stood  on  the 
lower  step  waiting  for  the  train  to  start.  His  face 
in  the  dawn  light  was  very  wistful.  Suddenly  Pen's 
lips  quivered.  Just  as  the  train  began  to  move,  "Jim !" 
she  whispered.  And  she  leaned  over  and  caught  his 
face  between  her  hands  and  kissed  him  quickly  on  the 


332  STILL   JIM 

lips.  Then  she  slipped  into  the  coach.  Jim  dropped 
off  the  train  and  stood  staring  unseeingly  at  Uncle 
Denny  and  Henderson.  A  to-hee  sang  its  morning 
song  from  a  nearby  cactus : 

"O  yahee!     O  yahai ! 
Sweet  as  arrow  weed  in  spring!" 

"Put  your  hat  on,  me  boy,"  said  Uncle  Denny,  who 
had  not  seen  the  little  episode,  "and  come  on."  He  led 
the  way  to  the  machine  and  climbed  in  beside  Jim. 
"Well,  Still,  she's  gone!" 

Jim  turned  and  looked  at  his  Uncle  Denny.  "She's 
not  gone  for  long.  When  I  have  finished  the  Project 
fight  I  shall  go  after  her." 

"Did  she  agree?"  asked  Uncle  Denny  eagerly. 

"No,"  said  Jim  serenely.  "She's  in  the  frame  of 
mind  that's  to  be  expected  after  the  life  she's  lived  with 
Sara.  She  is  afraid  of  everything.  After  the  elec 
tion,  I  shall  go  to  her.  She  and  I  have  missed  enough 
of  each  other." 

Dennis  brought  his  fist  down  on  his  knee.  "Then 
that's  settled  right,  thank  God!"  he  said  to  the  dawn 
at  large. 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Ames  came  up  to  the  dam.  She 
was  inconsolable  that  she  had  not  been  sent  for,  to 
help  Pen  and  Mrs.  Flynn's  air  of  superiority  was  not 
soothing.  Uncle  Denny  took  to  Mrs.  Ames  at  once. 

"I've  done  nothing  but  gad  for  Mr.  Manning, 
lately,"  she  said. 

"How  are  things  going?"  asked  Mrs.  Flynn.  "Has 
Bill  Evans  got  all  the  money  yet?" 

"Eh?    What's  this?"  exclaimed  Uncle  Denny. 

"Mrs.  Pen  thought  it  would  do  a  lot  of  good  if  we 


SARA   GOES   ON   A  JOURNEY    333 

could  get  the  farmers'  wives  to  working  against  Fleck- 
enstein,"  said  Jane.  "I've  been  calling  on  a  lot  of 
them.  Bill  Evans  takes  me  in  his  auto." 

"Who  pays  Bill?"  asked  Uncle  Denny.     "Ames?" 

"He  does  not,  though  he  honestly  offered  to,"  said 
Jane.  "This  is  a  woman's  job.  Mrs.  Flynn  is  paying 
for  it.  And  don't  you  tell  Mr.  Manning.  So  far  he 
hasn't  asked  any  questions.  Oscar  says  he's  too  wor 
ried  over  other  things." 

"Bless  us!"  cried  Uncle  Denny.  "That  won't  do! 
You  must  let  me  straighten  it  up." 

Mrs.  Flynn  rapped  on  the  table  with  the  dripping 
mixing  spoon  with  which  she  had  followed  Jane  in 
from  the  kitchen.  "Michael  Dennis!  You  will  not! 
What's  me  money  for  if  it  ain't  for  him?  Ain't  he  all 
I've  got  in  the  wide  world  and  you  grutch  me  that? 
God  knows  I  never  thought  I'd  come  to  this  to  be  told 
I  couldn't  do  for  him !  If  God  lets  me  live  to  spare  my 
life  I  hope  to  spend  every  cent  I've  got  back  on  the 
Boss." 

Uncle  Denny  nodded.  "All  right!  You're  a  good 
woman,  Mrs.  Flynn.  How  is  your  campaign  going, 
Mrs.  Ames?" 

Jane  shook  her  head.  "You  never  know  which  way 
a  woman  will  jump.  If  only  Fleckenstein  can  be 
beaten,  it  will  be  Mr.  Manning's  personality  that  beats 
him,  and  after  that  he  can  do  whatever  he  wants  to 
with  the  valley.  But  the  election  is  only  a  little  way 
off  and  I'm  scared  to  death.  I've  talked  and  visited 
until  I'm  ashamed  of  myself.  And  there's  only  one 
woman  in  the  valley  I'm  sure  of." 

"Who  is  she?"  asked  Uncle  Denny. 

"That's  Mrs.  Cady,  a  rich  widow  who  lives  near 


334  STILL   JIM 

Cabillo.  She's  the  terror  of  the  valley.  She's  a  scold 
and  she  holds  half  the  mortgages  in  the  county.  She 
stopped  Mr.  Manning  a  while  ago  and  asked  what  he 
meant  by  running  one  of  the  canals  the  way  it  was. 
Then,  just  because  he's  always  nice  to  a  woman,  Mr. 
Manning  stands  and  lets  her  explain  his  business  to 
him  for  half  an  hour.  When  she  got  through  he 
thanked  her  and  said  it  was  always  wise  to  trust  a 
woman's  intuition.  She  thought  she'd  taught  him  a 
real  valuable  lesson  and  she  said  he  was  the  only  man 
she  ever  saw  that  knew  good  advice  when  he  got  it. 
Well,  when  I  went  round  to  her  the  other  day  and 
told  her  what  Mr.  Manning  was  up  against,  she  flew 
round  like  a  wet  hen.  I've  heard  she  threatened  to 
foreclose  on  anyone  that  voted  for  Fleckenstein." 

Uncle  Denny  chuckled.  "And  the  boy  thinks  he  has 
no  friends!" 

The  fight  into  which  Jim  had  thrown  himself  was  an 
intangible  one.  He  knew  that  he  could  not  save  his 
job  for  himself,  but  he  believed  that  if  he  could  defeat 
Fleckenstein,  he  would  have  made  the  farmers  assume 
a  responsibility  for  the  Project  that  would  never  be 
lost. 

Uncle  Denny  did  not  tell  Jim  that  he  knew  that 
every  day  lessened  Jim's  term  of  office  on  the  dam. 
He  asked  no  embarrassing  questions.  One  day,  as 
they  stood  looking  at  the  dam  slowly  emerging  from 
the  river  bed  to  lie  in  the  utter  beauty  of  strength  at 
the  Elephant's  feet,  Jim  said : 

"I  wonder  if  another  man  will  love  the  dam  as  I 
have.  There  is  not  a  stone  in  it  that  I  don't  know  and 
care  for." 

But  Uncle  Denny  only  nodded  and  said  in  reply,  "A 


SARA   GOES   ON   A  JOURNEY    335 

man  must  love  the  thing  he  creates  whether  it's  a  dam 
or  a  child."  But  his  heart  ached  within  him. 

The  Department  of  Agriculture  had  responded  im 
mediately  and  half  a  dozen  experts  already  were  at 
work  on  the  Project.  The  older  farmers  resented  any 
suggestions  that  were  made  regarding  their  methods, 
but  little  by  little  the  newcomers  were  turning  to  the 
experts,  and  Jim  believed  that  even  in  a  year  scientific 
farming  would  be  a  settled  fact  on  the  Project. 

Every  moment  that  Jim  could  spare  from  hastening 
the  work  on  the  dam  he  spent  in  the  valley  with  the 
farmers.  He  did  not  harangue.  He  had  come  to 
realize  that  deep  within  us  all  dwells  a  hunger  of  the 
soul  on  which,  when  roused,  the  world  wings  forward. 
So  he  induced  these  men  to  talk  to  him  and  listened, 
wondering  at  the  deeps  he  touched.  He  did  not  real 
ize  that  often  they  were  ashamed  to  show  him  nar 
rowness  or  selfishness  when  through  his  wistful  silence 
they  glimpsed  his  unsatisfied  visioning.  Nothing  in 
life  is  so  contagious  as  a  great  dream. 

As  far  as  the  Project  was  concerned,  the  story  of 
Jim's  alleged  interview  with  Freet  made  little  impres 
sion,  after  all.  Insinuations  and  accusations  had  ap 
peared  so  often  about  the  engineers  of  the  dam  in  the 
local  papers  that  they  had  ceased  to  be  a  sensation.  In 
the  East,  though,  Jim  knew  the  story  would  leave  its 
permanent  imprint.  Murphy  interviewed  Fleckenstein 
and  never  would  tell  what  he  and  the  politician  said  to 
each  other.  But  the  threat  of  the  letter  never  was 
carried  out.  Fleckenstein  continued  a  vigorous  cam 
paign,  however.  Money  and  whiskey  flowed  freely 
and  Fleckenstein  saw  every  man  that  Jim  saw. 

Uncle  Denny  was  only  temporarily  dismayed  by 


336  STILLJIM 

Jim's  refusal  to  allow  him  to  work  openly  against 
Fleckenstein.  Mrs.  Ames,  having  come  to  the  end  of 
her  talking  capacity,  he  hired  Bill  Evans  and  his  ma 
chine  for  the  remaining  six  weeks  of  the  campaign. 
Bill  was  quite  willing  to  let  the  hogs  go  hungry  while 
he  and  his  machine  were  in  demand. 

Uncle  Denny  said :  "A  twenty-mile  ride  in  Bill's 
tonneau  is  better  as  a  flesh  reducer  than  ten  hours  in  a 
Turkish  bath.  It  is  the  truth  when  I  tell  folks  I'm  rid 
ing  for  me  health." 

Uncle  Denny  made  himself  newsgetter-in-chief  for 
Jim.  He  scoured  the  valley  for  reports  on  the  state 
of  mind  of  every  water  user  and  business  man  on  the 
Project.  Oscar  and  Murphy,  when  not  with  Jim,  de 
voted  themselves  to  Uncle  Denny.  Both  the  men 
were  frankly  giving  all  their  time  to  the  Project  these 
days. 

The  weeks  sped  by  all  too  rapidly.  One  evening 
Uncle  Denny  called  a  conference  at  Jim's  house.  Jim, 
coming  home  from  the  office  at  ten  o'clock  that  night, 
found  Murphy  and  Henderson  and  Oscar  awaiting  him 
with  Uncle  Denny  as  master  of  ceremonies. 

"Me  boy,"  said  Uncle  Denny,  "there's  going  to  be  a 
landslide  for  Fleckenstein." 

Jim  nodded.  "I  think  so.  Well,  anyhow,  I've  made 
one  or  two  friends  below  who'll  remember  after  I'm 
gone  some  of  the  things  I've  wanted  for  the  Project." 

Uncle  Denny,  standing  before  the  grate,  looked  at 
Jim  in  a  troubled  way.  The  Big  Boss,  as  he  loved  to 
call  Jim,  was  looking  very  tired. 

"Well,"  said  Murphy,  "Fleckenstein  can't  make 
much  trouble  for  a  year.  Even  after  he  takes  his  seat 
it  will  take  time  to  start  things  even  with  the  money 


SARA   GOES   ON   A  JOURNEY    337 

from  the  Trust.  And  in  the  meantime  the  Big  Boss 
will  be  able  to  put  up  a  great  counter-irritant  out  here 
if  what  he's  done  the  last  few  weeks  is  any  sample." 

Jim  lighted  his  pipe  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 
"I  won't  be  here,  boys,"  he  said.  "This  is  confidential. 
I  have  been  asked  for  my  resignation  and  it  takes 
effect  the  day  after  election." 

There  was  utter  silence  in  the  room  for  a  moment, 
then  Henderson  leaned  forward  and  spat  past  Uncle 
Denny  into  the  grate. 

"Hell's  fire!"  he  said  gently. 

"How  long  have  you  known  this,  Boss?"  asked 
Murphy. 

"Nearly  three  months,"   answered  Jim. 

"Pen  told  me,"  said  Dennis.  "Suma-theek  told 
her." 

Jim  looked  up  in  astonishment,  then  he  shook  his 
head.  "I'm  sorry  Pen  has  that  to  bother  her,  too." 

Murphy  jumped  to  his  feet.  "And  you  have  known 
this  three  months  and  never  told  us !  Is  that  any  way 
to  treat  your  friends?  Do  you  suppose  we  want  to 
lie  by  and  see  you  licked  off  this  dam  like  a  yellow  cur  ? 
It's  no  use  for  you  to  ask  this  to  be  kept  quiet,  Boss.  I 
won't  do  it." 

Jim  rose  and  pointed  his  pipe  at  Murphy.  "Mur 
phy,  if  you  try  to  use  this  confidential  talk  to  raise 
sentiment  for  me,  I'll  fire  you !" 

"You  can't  fire  my  friendship!"  shouted  Murphy. 
"You  can  have  my  job  any  time  you  want  it !" 

Here  Oscar  Ames  spoke  for  the  first  time.  "When's 
Mrs.  Penelope  coming  back?" 

"Don't  you  get  her  out  here,"  said  Jim.  "She  can 
do  no  good  and  she  needs  peace  and  quiet." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  END  OF  THE  SILENT  CAMPAIGN 

"The  dream  in  them  of  a  greater  good  lifts  humans 
from  the  level  of  brutes.  Take  this  dream  from  them 
and  they  are  like  quenched  comets." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

IT  was  Oscar's  turn  to  get  to  his  feet.  "Manning," 
he  said,  "ain't  you  learned  your  lesson  yet  ?  Who 
was  it  kicked  me  out  of  the  dirty  political  scrape  I  was 
getting  into  and  made  me  see  straight?  Huh?  Who 
was  it?  Well,  it  was  my  wife.  And  who  woke  my 
wife  up?  It  was  Mrs.  Pen,  wasn't  it?  And  who,  by 
your  own  admission,  showed  you  things  you'd  been 
seeing  crooked  all  your  life?  Huh?  'Twas  Mrs.  Pen, 
wasn't  it?  You're  as  moss-bound  in  lots  of  ways  as  a 
farmer.  Now  I've  learned  my  lesson.  I'm  willing 
to  admit  that  women  folks  has  got  intuitions  that  beat 
our  fine  ideas  all  hollow.  She  may  not  do  us  any 
good.  But  I  want  to  know  what  she  thinks  about 
things.  I'll  be  yelling  votes  for  women  next.  Gimme 
her  address.  I'm  going  to  send  her  a  night  message 
they'll  have  to  use  an  adding  machine  to  count  the 
words  in." 

"What  can  be  done  in  a  week  ?"  asked  Jim,  with  his 

338 


END    OF   THE    CAMPAIGN   339 

first  show  of  irritation.  "I  won't  have  her  bothered,  I 
tell  you." 

"Still  Jim,"  said  Uncle  Denny,  "do  you  suppose 
she's  thought  of  anything  else  but  the  situation  out 
here,  excepting,  of  course,  poor  Sara?  And  Pen's 
Irish!  Even  long  distance  fighting  has  charms  for 
her." 

Henderson  looked  at  Jim's  dark  circled  eyes  and  his 
compressed  lips.  "Go  to  bed,  Boss,"  he  said  in  his 
tender  voice.  "See  if  you  can't  get  some  sleep.  You 
have  done  your  best.  Is  there  anyone  in  the  valley  you 
ain't  seen  yet?" 

"Two  or  three,"  said  Jim. 

"See  them,"  said  Henderson.  "We  are  going  to  put 
up  a  fight  to  keep  you  here,  Mr.  Manning." 

Jim  started  for  his  bedroom  door,  then  he  came 
back  and  said  slowly:  "I  don't  want  you  fellows  to 
misunderstand  me.  I'm  the  least  important  item  in 
this  matter.  I  admit  that  it's  crucifying  me  to  leave 
the  dam,  but  there  is  no  doubt  they  can  find  a  better 
man  than  I  am  for  the  job.  I  woke  up  too  late.  You 
folks  must  keep  on  in  one  last  fight  against  Flecken- 
stein.  For  Fleckenstein  stands  for  repudiation.  Re 
pudiation  means  the  undermining  of  the  basic  principle 
of  the  Reclamation  Service.  And  the  loss  of  that 
principle  means  the  loss  of  the  Projects  as  a  great 
working  ideal  for  America.  It  was  that  principle  that 
was  the  real  kernel  of  the  New  England  dream  in  this 
country.  We've  got  to  work  not  so  much  for  equality 
in  freedom  as  for  equality  in  responsibility  to  the  na 
tion.  Don't  waste  a  moment  on  keeping  me  here. 
Make  one  last  effort  to  defeat  Fleckenstein." 

Then  Jim  went  into  his  room  and  closed  the  door. 


340  STILL   JIM 

When  he  had  gone,  Murphy  said  in  a  low  voice: 
"It's  too  late  to  lick  Fleckenstein.  Are  we  going  to 
lie  down  on  the  Boss  losing  his  job,  boys?" 

"Not  till  I've  beaten  the  face  off  Fleckenstein,"  said 
Henderson,  softly. 

"I  want  to  get  in  touch  with  Mrs.  Pen,"  said  Oscar 
Ames. 

"Aw,  forget  it,  Ames!"  said  Murphy.  "I  don't 
doubt  she's  a  smart  girl,  but  this  is  no  suffragette  meet 
ing." 

"Don't  try  to  start  anything,"  said  Oscar.  "Wait 
till  you're  married  for  thirty  years  like  me  and  maybe 
you'll  have  learned  a  thing  or  two." 

"Don't  quarrel,  boys,"  said  Uncle  Denny.  "Me 
heart  is  like  lead  within  me.  How  can  I  think  of  Jim 
as  anywhere  but  with  the  Service?" 

"If  he  goes,  I  go,"  said  Henderson.  "The  only  rea 
son  I  stayed  up  on  the  Makon  was  because  of  him. 
What's  the  matter  with  the  wooden  heads  in  this  coun 
try?  I'd  like  to  be  fool  killer  for  a  year." 

Murphy  was  chewing  his  cigar.  "You'd  have  to 
commit  suicide  if  you  was,"  he  said.  "I've  tried  every 
thing  against  Fleckenstein  except  the  one  way  to  swing 
votes  in  America  and  that's  with  whiskey  or  dollars. 
Under  the  circumstance  we  can't  use  either.  I'm  going 
to  turn  in.  I'm  at  the  end  of  my  rope." 

Henderson  followed  Murphy  to  the  door.  Oscar 
Ames  forgot  to  lower  his  voice.  He  squared  his  big 
shoulders  and  shouted :  "You  blame  quitters !  I  ain't 
ashamed  to  ask  women  for  ideas  if  you  are.  The 
women  got  me  into  this  fight  and  I'll  bet  they  get  me 
out." 

He  nodded  belligerently  at  Uncle  Denny  and  strode 


END   OF   THE   CAMPAIGN   341 

out  into  the  night.  Uncle  Denny,  left  alone  in  the  liv 
ing  room,  stood  long  on  the  hearthrug,  talking  to  him 
self  and  now  and  again  shaking  his  head  despondently. 

"I  mind  how  after  he  found  himself,  he  was  always 
making  trails  in  front  of  the  old  fireplace  in  the  brown- 
stone  front.  I  mind  how  he  first  heard  of  the  Recla 
mation  Service.  'How'd  you  like  that,  Uncle  Denny/ 
he  said,  'James  Manning,  U.S.R.S.'  What'll  he  do 
now,  poor  lad  ? 

"Thank  God  his  father's  dead,  for  if  he  felt  worse 
than  I  do  he'd  kill  himself.  No !  No !  I'll  not  say  that ! 
He'd  have  felt  like  meself  that  'twas  worth  all  the 
sorrow  to  hear  Still  put  his  idea  ahead  of  himself  as 
he  did  tonight.  That's  the  test  of  a  man's  sincerity. 
And  in  her  heart,  his  mother'll  be  glad.  She's  always 
worried  lest  he  get  killed  on  one  of  his  dams,  bless 
her  heart." 

Uncle  Denny  moved  about  the  room,  closing  the 
door  and  putting  away  the  cigars.  He  picked  Jim's 
hat  off  the  floor  and  patted  it  softly  as  he  hung  it  up. 

"What'll  he  do  now,  poor  boy?"  he  murmured. 
Then  he  turned  out  the  light  and  went  to  bed. 

Jim  received  a  message  the  next  morning,  saying 
that  a  certain  Herr  Gluck  would  reach  the  dam  that 
afternoon. 

"And  who  is  he  ?"  asked  Uncle  Denny. 

"He's  an  engineer  the  German  government  is  send 
ing  over  to  see  some  of  the  stunts  I've  been  doing 
on  the  dam,"  said  Jim.  "I'll  show  him  round,  then 
I'll  turn  him  over  to  you  for  the  hour  before  supper. 
I  want  to  see  old  Miguel,  who  is  coming  up  to  the 
dam." 


342  STILL    JIM 

"I'm  itching  to  lay  hands  on  him.  Does  he  speak 
English?" 

Jim  laughed.  "Better  than  I  do.  He's  written  me 
a  couple  of  times." 

Jim  brought  Herr  Gluck  in  over  the  great  road. 
The  German  was  full  of  enthusiasm.  "Blasted  from 
solid  rock!  How  not  like  America!  This  was  built 
for  the  future!  How  did  you  come  to  do  it?" 

Jim  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You  belong  not  to  this  country,"  Herr  Gluck  went 
on,  "you  belong  to  the  old  world  where  they  build  for 
their  descendants." 

Jim  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  long  afternoon  on  the 
dam  with  the  German.  Herr  Gluck's  questions  were 
searching  and  invigorating.  They  took  Jim  out  of 
himself  and  he  showed  Herr  Gluck  a  scientific  knowl 
edge  and  enthusiasm  that  few  people  were  fitted  to 
appreciate. 

At  five  o'clock  Jim  took  Herr  Gluck  up  to  his  house 
and  turned  him  over  to  Uncle  Denny.  The  rotund, 
flaxen-haired  German  and  the  rotund,  gray-haired 
Irishman  took  stock  of  each  other.  Uncle  Denny 
moved  two  chairs  before  the  open  door. 

Herr  Gluck  sat  down.  "Himmel!  What  beauty!" 
he  exclaimed,  as  the  faint  lavender  distances  with  the 
far  mountains  flashing  sunset  gold  met  his  gaze.  "Not 
strange  that  Mr.  Manning  has  enthusiasm." 

Uncle  Denny  sighed  in  a  relieved  way  as"  if  he  had 
catalogued  the  newcomer. 

"They  say,"  said  Dennis,  "that  a  man  must  close 
his  soul  to  the  Big  Country  or  else  he  will  become 
great  or  go  mad.  And  do  you  think  me  boy  has  done 
good  work  here,  Herr  Gluck?" 


END    OF    THE    CAMPAIGN   343 

The  German  made  some  extraordinary  rings  of 
smoke  and  nodded  his  head  slowly.  "He  has  done 
some  daring  things  well  that  may  not  be  great  in  them 
selves,  but  they  show  imagination.  That  is  the  point. 
He  has  imagination.  Many  are  the  engineers  who  are 
accurate,  who  are  trustworthy,  but  imagination,  crea 
tive  ability,  no!  You  observe  the  shape  of  his  head, 
his  jaw,  his  hands — the  dreamer,  urged  into  action. 
And  the  impudence  of  his  sand-cement  idea!  In  my 
country  we  dare  make  our  concrete  only  very  rich.  He 
shows  me  this  afternoon  that  diluted  rightly  with 
sand,  cement  can  be  made  stronger."  Herr  Gluck 
chuckled  delightedly. 

Uncle  Denny  almost  purred.  "He  was  so  as  a  lad. 
He  was  captain  of  his  school  football  teams  because 
he  could  think  of  more  wild  tactics  than  all  the  rest  of 
them  put  together.  And  always  got  away  with  them, 
looking  sad  and  never  an  unnecessary  word." 

Herr  Gluck  nodded.  "He  is  so  valuable  here  that 
I  think  it  not  possible  I  get  him  to  come  to  Germany 
yet?" 

Michael  Dennis  got  red  in  the  face  and  took  a  long 
breath.  "But  they  don't  appreciate  him  here.  He's 
been  asked  to  resign  in  a  few  days  now." 

The  German's  round  eyes  grew  rounder.  "Nein! 
And  why  ?  Has  he  got  into  foolishness  ?  He  is  young, 
they  must  remember." 

"It's  a  long  tale,"  said  Uncle  Denny,  "but  I'll  tell  it 
to  you,"  and  he  plunged  into  the  story  of  the  Project. 

Herr  Gluck  listened  breathlessly. 

"And  so  you  see,"  Dennis  ended,  "that  for  all  he 
has  done  he  feels  he's  failed,  for  everything  the  dam 
has  stood  for  in  his  mind  has  come  to  naught.  And 


344  STILL   JIM 

that's  a  bad  feeling  for  a  man  as  young  as  Jim.  He'll 
never  readjust  himself,  Jim  won't.  He  can  get  an 
other  job  but  his  life's  big  dream  will  have  gone  to 
smash.  His  inspiration  will  be  gone.  And  what  will 
he  do  then,  poor  boy?" 

"But  it's  impossible,"  persisted  Herr  Gluck.  "He's 
a  valuable  man.  It  is  not  possible  they  would  dismiss 
him.  Some  day  when  he  is  older  he  will  do  great 
things  your  country  can't  afford  to  lose.  What  is  the 
matter  with  your  Head  of  the  Service?" 

"Impossible!"  snorted  Uncle  Denny.  "Impossible! 
The  word  is  not  in  the  vocabulary  of  the  American 
politician.  The  Director  is  all  right,  a  fine  clean  fel 
low.  But  he  can't  help  himself.  It's  either  Jim  or  the 
Project  to  be  smirched.  They  won't  be  satisfied,  the 
politicians,  till  they  get  the  Service  attached  to  the 
Spoils  system.  What  do  they  care  for  scientific 
achievement?  Soul  of  me  soul!  I'd  like  to  be  Secre 
tary  of  the  Interior  for  fifteen  minutes.  I'd  discharge 
everyone  in  the  Department,  ending  with  meself." 

Herr  Gluck  was  visibly  excited.  "I  tell  you  it  is  not 
possible !  He's  a  great  engineer  in  the  making?  They 
cannot  know  it  or  they  would  not  so  do." 

Uncle  Denny  lost  patience.  "I'm  telling  you  it  is 
so!  Don't  you  know  that  nothing  is  impossible  to  ig 
norant  men?"  he  shouted.  "Didn't  ignorance  crucify 
Christ?  Didn't  the  ignorant  make  Galileo  deny  his 
world  was  round  ?  Didn't  ignorance  burn  Joan  of  Arc 
at  the  stake?  Every  advance  the  world  has  made  has 
been  with  bloody  footsteps.  Don't  we  always  kill  the 
man  in  the  vanguard  and  use  his  body  as  a  bridge  to 
cross  the  gulf  of  our  own  fear  and  ignorance?  I  tell 
you,  I  fear  ignorance!" 


END    OF   THE   CAMPAIGN  345 

Herr  Gluck  rose  and  shook  his  plump  fist  in  Uncle 
Denny's  face.  'Those  are  days  gone  by  in  my  coun 
try,"  he  roared.  "They  may  be  true  in  this  raw  land  or 
in  besotted  Ireland,  but  in  the  Fatherland  we  worship 
brain.  Do  not  include  the  Fatherland  in  your  recrimi 
nations  !  Once  in  a  while  you  accomplish  great  things 
in  your  foolish  country  here  with  its  hysteria  and 
frothing  and  bubbling.  But  come  to  my  country  if  you 
would  see  the  quiet  patient  advance  of  noble  science 
with  scientists  revered  like  kings." 

"There  were  colleges  in  Ireland,"  shouted  Uncle 
Denny,  "when  your  ancestors  were  wearing  fur  breech 
clouts  and  using  cairns  for  books !" 

Jim  came  slowly  up  the  trail  and  Uncle  Denny  and 
Herr  Gluck  sat  down  a  little  sheepishly.  Herr  Gluck 
did  not  waste  any  time  in  preliminaries  as  Jim  came 
in  the  door. 

"Your  Uncle  tells  me  of  the  trouble  here  on  the 
dam,"  he  said.  "My  government  is  undertaking  some 
great  work  which  I  will  describe  to  you.  We  will 
make  you  a  formal  offer  if  you  will  it  consider." 

Jim  sat  down  in  the  doorway,  pulled  off  his  hat  and 
looked  up  into  the  German's  face.  Herr  Gluck  con 
cisely  and  clearly  outlined  the  work.  Jim  listened  in 
tently,  then  as  Herr  Gluck  finished  and  waited  for 
Jim's  answer,  the  young  engineer  looked  away. 

He  saw  the  Elephant  dominating  the  river  and  des 
ert,  guarding  and  waiting — for  what?  Jim  wondered. 
He  saw  the  far  road  that  he  had  built,  winding  into 
the  dim  mountains.  For  a  long  time  he  sat  battling 
with  himself  in  the  flood  of  emotion  that  rose  within 
him.  It  really  had  come,  he  realized,  with  Herr 
Gluck's  offer.  He  actually  was  to  turn  his  work  over 


346  STILL   JIM 

to  another  man  to  finish.  The  two  older  men  watched 
him  intently. 

Finally  Jim  said :  "The  New  England  stock  in  this 
country  is  disappearing,  Herr  Gluck.  Perhaps  we  are 
no  longer  needed.  At  any  rate  we  haven't  been  strong 
enough  to  stay.  This  dam  has  been  more  than  a  dam 
to  me.  It  has  meant  something  like,  'Anglo-Saxons; 
their  mark;  by  Jim  Manning.'  Some  other  man  will 
finish  the  dam  quite  as  well  as  I,  but  I  don't  think  he 
will  have  my  dream  about  it." 

Herr  Gluck  leaned  forward  and  said :  "We  all  are 
Teutons,  one  family.  That  is  why  we  always  have 
quarreled.  But  we  understand  each  other.  Come  to 
Germany  and  build  for  other  Teutons,  since  they  will 
not  have  you  here." 

"An  expatriate!  Poor  dad!"  muttered  Jim.  Then 
he  said,  in  his  quiet  drawl,  "I'll  come,  but  you'll  be  get 
ting  only  half  a  man." 

The  German  looked  away.  He  was  a  scientist,  yet 
he  was  of  a  nation  that  had  produced  Goethe  as  well 
as  Weismann  and  his  heart  was  quick  to  respond  to 
truth,  shot  with  the  rainbow  tints  of  vision. 

"I  know!"  he  said.  "I  know!  Man  needs  the  im 
pulse  of  national  pride  and  honor  behind  his  mind. 
There  are  those  that  claim  that  they  achieve  for  hu 
man  kind  and  not  for  their  own  race  alone.  But  I 
doubt  it.  After  all,  Goethe  spoke  for  Deutschland, 
Darwin  spoke  for  England.  Therefrom  came  their 
greatness.  And  yet  if  they  will  not  have  you  here, 
dear  friend — Ach  Himmel,  I  cannot  urge  thee !  Come 
if  thou  wilt!" 

Herr  Gluck  broke  off  abruptly  to  turn  to  Uncle 


END    OF    THE    CAMPAIGN   347 

Denny.  "Who  is  the  highest  authority  in  this  Serv 
ice?" 

"The  Secretary  of  the  Interior,"  said  Uncle  Denny. 
"Come,  we  must  eat  supper  or  Mrs.  Flynn  will  be  using 
force  on  us." 

Jim  took  Herr  Cluck  over  to  the  midnight  train. 
The  German  was  very  quiet,  but  Jim  was  even  more  so. 
As  Jim  left  him  Herr  Cluck  said :  "Keep  a  good  heart, 
dear  friend.  I  shall  say  a  few  truths  myself  before  I 
have  finished." 

Jim  shook  hands  heartily.  "There  is  nothing  to  be 
done,  Herr  Cluck,  but  I'm  grateful  for  your  sympathy. 
You  will  hear  from  me  about  the  new  work,"  and  he 
drove  off  in  the  darkness,  leaving  Herr  Cluck  in  the 
hands  of  the  ranchers  Marshall  and  Miguel,  who  had 
spent  the  afternoon  and  evening  at  the  dam,  and  were 
going  to  Cabillo  by  train. 

Jim  had  received  no  answer  from  the  Secretary  of 
the  Interior  to  his  last  letter.  He  was  a  little  puzzled 
and  hurt.  There  had  been  one  flashing  look  pass  be 
tween  himself  and  the  Secretary  at  the  May  hearing 
that  had  stayed  with  Jim  as  though  it  had  declared  a 
friendship  that  needed  neither  words  nor  personal  as 
sociation  to  give  it  permanence.  Jim  had  counted  on 
that  friendship,  not  to  save  him  his  job,  but  to  save 
his  idea.  No  answer  had  come  to  his  letter.  Jim  be 
lieved  that  the  story  of  the  interview  with  Freet  had 
finally  destroyed  the  Secretary's  faith  in  his  integrity. 

Pen  had  written  a  long  letter  jointly  to  Jim  and 
Uncle  Denny  some  two  weeks  after  leaving  the  dam. 
It  was  the  first  word  they  had  had  except  through 
telegrams.  Sara's  will  had  been  read.  He  had  left 
Pen  all  his  property,  which  was  enough  to  yield  a  liv- 


348  STILL   JIM 

ing  income  for  her.  Pen  enclosed  a  copy  of  the  note 
Sara  had  left  her  with  his  papers. 

"You  have  always  felt  bitter  at  my  stinginess.  But 
I  knew  that  I  could  not  live  long  and  I  wanted  to  repay 
you  for  your  care  of  me.  I  did  not  spend  an  unneces 
sary  cent  nor  did  I  let  you.  I  have  been  ugly  but  it 
didn't  matter  to  you.  I  knew  you  didn't  care  for  me 
and  so  I  didn't  try  to  be  decent." 

Uncle  Denny  shook  his  head  over  this  note.  "No 
human  soul  but  has  its  white  side,  and  there  you  are! 
I  hope  I'll  never  sit  in  judgment  on  another  human 
being." 

"Has  she  any  comment  on  Sara's  note?"  asked  Jim, 
who  was  resting  on  the  couch  while  Uncle  Denny  read 
the  letter  to  him. 

Uncle  Denny  looked  on  the  reverse  side  of  the  sheet. 
Pen  had  written :  "This  touches  me  very  much.  But 
when  I  consider  the  sources  of  poor  Sara's  money  I 
can't  bear  to  touch  it.  I  am  arranging  to  give  it  to  the 
home  for  paralytic  children.  I  hope  that  both  of  you 
will  approve  of  my  doing  so." 

The  two  men  stared  at  each  other  and  Jim  said  noth 
ing.  He  was  consumed  by  such  a  longing  for  Pen  that 
he  scarcely  dared  speak  her  name.  But  Uncle  Denny 
nodded  complacently  and  said : 

"You  can  always  bet  on  Pen !" 

The  day  after  Herr  Gluck's  visit  there  was  to  be  a 
political  rally  of  the  Fleckenstein  forces  at  Cabillo. 
To  the  great  relief  of  Dennis  and  his  two  henchmen, 
Jim  made  no  move  to  attend  the  meeting.  The  first 
concrete  pouring  on  the  last  section  of  the  foundation 
was  to  be  made  that  day  and  Jim  was  engrossed  with 
it.  Fleckenstein  was  late  in  getting  to  the  meeting. 


END    OF    THE    CAMPAIGN   349 

This,  too,  was  better  luck  than  the  three  conspirators 
had  hoped  for.  The  meeting  was  made  up  almost  en 
tirely  of  farmers  who  wanted  to  hear  Fleckenstein's 
last  statement  of  his  pledges. 

Before  the  chairman  called  the  meeting  to  order, 
Oscar  Ames  mounted  the  platform  and  asked  permis 
sion  to  say  a  few  words  while  the  audience  waited  for 
Fleckenstein.  Oscar  then  put  forth  the  great  effort  of 
his  life. 

He  squared  his  great  shoulders  and  threw  back  his 
tawny  head. 

"Fellow  citizens,  there  is  a  great  disgrace  coming 
onto  this  community.  You  all  know  the  Project  en 
gineer,  James  Manning.  Well,  there  ain't  been  anyone 
who's  fought  him  harder  or  made  him  more  trouble  till 
lately  than  I  have.  But  lately,  fellow  citizens,  I've  got 
to  know  him.  I  tell  you  right  now  that  he's  the  smart 
est  fellow  that  ever  come  into  these  parts.  He's  got 
some  ideas  that  I'm  not  smart  enough  myself  to  under 
stand,  but  I  do  know  enough  to  realize  that  if  he  gets 
a  chance  to  carry  them  out  he'll  make  this  Project  the 
center  of  America!" 

Oscar  paused  and  someone  called,  "Go  it,  Oscar! 
Throw  her  in  to  low  and  you'll  make  it!" 

"Well,  fellow  citizens,  Fleckenstein  and  his  crowd 
and  all  the  rest  of  us,  helping  with  kicks,  have  worked 
it  so  that  Jim  Manning  has  been  asked  to  resign.  They 
tell  him  that  he's  so  unpopular  here  that  the  Service 
can't  afford  to  keep  him.  Understand  that  ?  In  other 
words,  we  farmers  are  such  fools  that  we  can't  appre 
ciate  a  good  man  just  because  his  ideas  differ  from 
ours.  But  we  can  go  crazy  over  a  man  like  Flecken 
stein  because  he'll  take  the  trouble  to  jolly  us.  Fellow 


350  STILL   JIM 

citizens,  I  ask  you,  are  you  going  to  sit  by  while  the 
man  that  would  make  this  Project  into  a  valley  empire 
is  kicked  out?" 

Oscar  stood  for  a  moment  glaring  at  his  grinning 
hearers.  Murphy  climbed  up  beside  him  and  shoved 
him  aside. 

"Down  with  the  Irish !"  yelled  someone. 

"You  never  paid  me  the  fifty  dollars  you  ran  up  for 
whiskey  in  my  saloon,  Henry,"  replied  Murphy. 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter  and  Murphy  followed 
it  quickly.  "You  all  know  me.  I  was  in  the  saloon 
business  in  this  valley  for  twenty  years.  But  not  one 
of  you  can  say  I  wasn't  on  the  straight  all  that  time. 
The  nearest  I  ever  come  to  doing  a  man  dirt  was  up 
in  the  dam.  I  was  running  a  saloon  just  off  the  Re 
serve  and  Big  Boss  Manning  jumped  me  and  made  me 
clean  out  my  own  joint.  I  was  mad  and  I  went  up  to 
the  Greek  there,  who  since  is  dead,  for  I  heard  the 
Greek  was  backed  by  Big  Money  with  which  he  backed 
Fleckenstein  to  do  the  Service.  Says  I  to  myself,  I'll 
help  the  Greek  to  do  Manning. 

"But  the  Greek  cursed  me  out  as  I'll  stand  from  no 
man.  Then  they  took  me  to  Manning  and  he  treated 
me  like  a  gentleman  and  asked  me  for  my  word  of 
honor  to  keep  off  the  Project.  I  know  men.  And  I 
saw  that  the  fellow  I'd  set  out  to  do  was  a  real  man, 
carrying  a  load  that  was  too  big  for  the  likes  of  me 
to  sabez  and  that  it  made  him  sad  and  lonely.  I  was 
sick  of  the  saloon  business,  anyhow,  and  when  I  got 
his  number,  I  was  proud  to  have  been  licked  by  him. 
Do  you  get  me  ?  Proud !  And  I  says,  I'm  his  friend 
for  life  and  I'll  just  keep  an  eye  on  the  pikers  who  are 
trying  to  do  him. 


END    OF   THE   CAMPAIGN   351 

"And  I  have.  You  know  me,  boys.  You  know  that 
after  the  priest  and  the  doctor  it's  the  saloonkeeper 
that  knows  a  man's  number.  Let  me  tell  you  that 
Fleckenstein  is  a  crook.  He'll  steal  anything  from  a 
woman's  honor  to  a  water  power  site.  He's  playing 
you  folks  for  suckers.  He's  having  everything  his 
own  way.  Charlie  Ives  is  the  only  fellow  who's  had 
the  nerve  to  run  against  Fleckenstein  and  he's  a  dead 
one. 

"And  now  Fleckenstein  has  done  the  Big  Boss. 
He's  made  monkeys  of  you  farmers.  He's  got  you  to 
roasting  Manning  till  you've  ruined  him.  And  they 
ain't  one  of  us  fit  to  black  his  boots.  This  Project  is 
his  life's  blood  to  him.  There  isn't  anything  he  would 
sacrifice  to  its  welfare.  And  you're  throwing  him  out. 
Ain't  a  man's  sacrifice  worth  anything  to  you?  Will 
you  take  his  best  and  give  him  the  Judas  kiss  in  re 
turn?  Are  ye  hogs  or  men?" 

There  was  an  angry  buzz  in  the  room.  Just  as 
Uncle  Denny  started  upon  the  platform,  a  tall  lank 
farmer  whom  the  man  next  him  had  been  nudging  vio 
lently,  rose. 

"My  name's  Marshall,"  he  said,  "and  my  friend 
Miguel  here  says  I  gotta  get  up  and  say  the  few  things 
he  and  I  agreed  on  last  night.  I'm  mighty  sick  of 
hearing  us  farmers  called  fools.  And  now  even  the 
women  folks  have  begun  it.  When  our  wives  won't 
give  us  any  peace  maybe  it's  time  we  reformed  our 
judgments.  I'm  willing  to  say  that  I  think  I've  been 
mistaken  about  Manning.  He  came  over  to  my  place 
for  the  first  time  a  few  weeks  back.  I  never  talked 
with  him  before  or  got  a  good  look  at  him.  Boys,  a 
man  don't  get  the  look  that  that  young  fella  has  on  his 


352  STILL   JIM 

face  unless  he's  full  of  ideas  that  folks  will  kick  him 
for.  I  felt  kind  of  worked  up  about  him  then,  but  I 
didn't  do  anything. 

"Last  night  I  rode  down  to  Cabillo  with  a  Dutch 
man,  some  big  bug  who'd  been  up  at  the  dam.  I'd  just 
been  up  there  with  Miguel.  He  told  us  that  Jim  Man 
ning  is  attracting  notice  in  the  old  country  by  the  work 
he's  doing  on  this  dam.  And  he  roasted  us  as  samples 
of  fat  cattle  who'd  let  a  man  like  Manning  go.  At 
least  that's  what  I  made  out,  for  he  was  so  mad  he 
talked  Dutch  a  lot.  Miguel  and  I  made  up  our  minds 
then  that  we'd  got  in  wrong.  What  has  this  fellow 
Fleckenstein  ever  done  for  us?  Is  he  going  to  get  us 
branded  over  the  country  as  a  bunch  that'll  jump  an 
honest  debt?  It  looks  to  me  as  if  Manning  had  done 
more  for  us  than  we  knew.  I'm  willing  to  give  Man 
ning  a  new  chance.  I  move  we  turn  this  meeting  into 
a  Manning  meeting  and  I  move  we  send  a  petition  to 
the  Secretary  of  the  Interior  to  keep  Manning  on  the 
job." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  THUMB   PRINT 

"I  have  been  buffeted  by  the  ages  until  I  dominate 
the  desert.  So  do  the  ages  buffet  one  another  until 
they  produce  a  dominating  man." 

MUSINGS  OF  THE  ELEPHANT. 

UNCLE  DENNY  was  on  the  platform  before 
Marshall  had  ceased  speaking. 

"Friends,  Mr.  Marshall  has  said  the  thing  we  had  in 
mind  to  present  to  this  meeting.  It  was  to  be  me 
share  to  ask  you  for  a  petition.  'Twill  be  the  pride  of 
Still  Jim's  life  that  the  request  came  from  a  farmer 
and  not  from  me.  If  all  here  will  sigh  and  if  every 
man  here  will  make  himself  responsible  fcr  the  signa 
tures  of  his  neighbors,  the  thing  can  be  done  in  a  few 
days  and  we  will  wire  the  matter  to  the  Secretary  of 
the  Interior.  Friends,  I'd  rather  see  the  tide  turn  for 
Jim  than  to  see  Home  Rule  in  Ireland !" 

The  tide  had  turned.  One  of  those  marvelous 
changes  of  sentiment  that  sometimes  sweep  a  com 
munity  began  in  the  wild  applause  that  greeted  the  ten 
der  little  closing  of  Uncle  Denny's  speech.  When 
Fleckenstein  arrived  an  hour  late,  he  found  an  empty 
hall.  His  audience  had  dispersed  to  scour  the  valleys 
for  signatures  for  Jim. 

353 


354  STILL   JIM 

Uncle  Denny  came  home  to  the  dam,  tired  but  with 
the  first  ray  of  hope  in  his  heart  that  he  had  had  for  a 
long  time.  The  petition  might  not  influence  the  au 
thorities  and  yet  the  sentiment  it  raised  might  defeat 
Fleckenstein  at  the  last.  At  any  rate,  it  was  some 
thing  to  work  for  these  last  hard  days  of  Jim's  regime. 

Jim  had  seen  the  last  farmer  and  was  devoting  the 
final  days  of  his  stay  on  the  dam  to  urging  the  work 
forward  that  he  might  leave  as  full  a  record  behind 
him  as  his  broken  term  permitted.  Wrapped  in  his 
work  and  his  grief,  Jim  did  not  hear  of  the  existence 
of  the  petition.  Henderson  had  spread  word  among 
the  workmen  of  Jim's  intended  departure.  No  one 
cared  to  speak  of  the  matter  to  Jim.  Something  in  his 
stern,  sad  young  face  forbade  it.  But  there  was  not  a 
man  on  the  job  from  associate  engineer  to  mule  driver 
who  did  not  throw  himself  into  his  work  with  an  aban 
don  of  energy  that  drove  the  work  forward  with 
unbelievable  rapidity.  All  that  his  men  could  do  to 
help  Jim's  record  was  to  be  done. 

For  three  days  before  the  election  Henderson 
scarcely  slept.  He  tried  to  be  on  all  three  shifts.  "I 
even  eat  my  meals  from  a  nose  bag,"  he  told  Uncle 
Denny  sadly. 

"And  what's  a  nose  bag?"  asked  Uncle  Denny. 

"A  nose  bag  is  the  thing  you  tie  on  a  horse  for  him 
to  get  his  grub  from.  Also  it's  the  long  yellow  bag 
the  cook  puts  the  night  shift's  lunch  in.  But  I'd  starve 
if  'twould  keep  the  Boss  on  the  job.  I'd  even  drink 
one  of  Babe's  cocktails." 

Henderson  waited  for  Uncle  Denny's  "Go  ahead 
with  the  story,"  then  he  began  sadly : 

"Algernon  Dove  was  Babe's  real  name.    He  was  an 


THE    THUMB    PRINT         355 

English  remittance-man  here  in  the  early  days.  The 
Smithsonian  folks  came  down  here  and  wanted  to  get 
someone  to  go  out  with  them  to  collect  desert  speci 
mens,  rattlers,  Gila  monsters,  hydrophobia  skunks  and 
such  trash.  Babe  and  Alkali  Ike,  his  running  mate, 
went  with  them.  They  took  a  good  outfit,  the  Smith 
sonian  folks  did,  and  in  one  wagon  they  took  a  barrel 
of  alcohol  and  dumped  the  reptiles  into  it  as  fast  as 
they  found  them.  They  got  a  good  bunch,  little  by  lit 
tle,  snakes  and  horned  toads  and  hydrophobia  skunks. 
In  about  two  weeks  they  was  ready  to  come  back. 
Then  they  noticed  the  bad  smell." 

Henderson  paused.  "What  was  the  matter?"  asked 
Uncle  Denny. 

"Babe  and  Ike  had  been  drinking  the  alcohol,  day 
by  day,"  he  answered  in  his  musical  voice.  "The  bar 
rel  just  did  'em  two  weeks.  Just  because  I  talk  foolish 
talk,  Mr.  Dennis,  ain't  a  sign  that  I  don't  feel  bad.  I 
don't  want  the  Boss  to  speak  to  me  or  I'll  cry." 

The  day  of  the  election  was  a  long  one  for  Jim.  He 
packed  his  trunk  and  his  personal  papers  and  Mrs. 
Flynn  began  to  wrap  the  legs  of  the  chairs  in  newspa 
pers.  Her  tears  threatened  to  reduce  each  wrapping 
to  pulp  before  she  completed  it.  In  the  afternoon,  Jim 
started  for  a  last  tour  of  the  dam.  He  covered  the 
work  slowly,  looking  his  last  at  the  details  over  which 
he  had  toiled  and  dreamed  so  long.  He  walked  slowly 
up  from  the  lower  town.  The  men  who  passed  him 
glanced  away  as  if  they  would  not  intrude  on  his 
trouble. 

The  work  on  the  dam  was  going  forward  as  though 
life  and  death  depended  on  the  amount  accomplished 
by  this  particular  shift.  Jim  was  inexpressibly  touched 


356  STILL   JIM 

by  this  display  of  the  men's  good  will,  but  he  could 
think  of  no  way  to  show  his  feeling. 

Just  at  sunset  he  climbed  the  Elephant's  back.  But 
he  was  not  to  have  this  last  call  alone.  Old  Suma- 
theek  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  crater,  his  fine 
face  turned  hawklike  toward  the  distance.  Jim  nod 
ded  to  his  friend,  then  sat  down  in  his  favorite  spot 
where,  far  across  the  canyon,  he  could  see  the  flag, 
rippling  before  the  office. 

After  a  time,  the  old  Indian  came  over  to  sit  beside 
him.  He  followed  Jim's  gaze  and  said  softly : 

"That  flag  it  heap  pretty  but  wherever  Injun  see  it 
he  see  sorrow  and  death  for  Injun." 

Jim  answered  slowly:  "Perhaps  we're  being  paid 
for  what  we've  done  to  you,  Suma-theek.  The  white 
tribe  that  made  the  flag  is  going,  just  as  we  have  made 
you  go.  The  flag  will  always  look  the  same,  but  the 
dream  it  was  made  to  tell  will  go." 

"Who  sabez  the  way  of  the  Great  Spirit?  He  make 
you  go.  He  make  Injun  go.  He  make  nigger  and 
Chinamans  stay.  Perhaps  they  right,  you  and  Injun 
wrong.  Who  sabez?" 

"I'd  like  to  have  finished  my  dam,"  Jim  muttered. 
"Somehow  we  are  inadequate.  I  woke  up  too  late." 
And  suddenly  a  deeper  significance  came  to  him  of 
Pen's  verse — 

"Too  late  for  love,  too  late  for  joy; 

Too  late!     Too  late! 
You  loitered  on  the  road  too  long, 
You  trifled  at  the  gate " 

"When  you  old  like  Suma-theek,"  said  the  Indian, 
"you  sabez  then  nothing  matter  except  man  make  his 


THE    THUMB    PRINT         357 

tribe  live.  Have  children  or  die!  That  the  Great 
Spirit's  law  for  tribes." 

Jim  said  no  more.  The  daily  miracle  of  the  sunset 
was  taking  place.  An  early  snow  had  capped  the  far 
mountain  peaks  and  these  now  flashed  an  unearthly 
silver  radiance  against  the  crimson  heavens.  Old  Jeze 
bel  wandered  remotely,  a  black  scratch  across  a  desert 
of  blood  red.  Distance  indefinable,  beauty  indescrib 
able,  once  more  these  quickened  Jim's  pulse.  Almost, 
almost  he  seemed  to  catch  the  key  to  the  Master  Dream 
and  then — the  scarlet  glow  changed  to  purple,  and 
night  began  its  march  across  the  sands. 

Jim  made  his  way  down  the  trail  and  up  to  his 
house.  Waiting  at  his  door  were  three  of  his  work 
men.  They  were  young  fellows,  fresh  shaved  and 
wearing  white  collars.  Jim  invited  them  in  and  they 
followed  awkwardly.  They  took  the  cigars  he  offered 
and  then  shifted  uneasily  while  Jim  stood  on  the  hearth 
rug  regarding  them  with  his  wistful  smile.  He  was 
not  so  very  many  years  older  than  they. 

"Boss,"  finally  began  one  of  the  men,  "us  fellows 
heard  a  few  days  ago  that  you  were  going  to  leave. 
We  wanted  to  do  something  to  show  we  liked  you  and 
what  a — d — doggone  shame  it  is  you're  going  and — 
and  we  didn't  have  time  to  buy  anything,  but  we  made 
up  a  purse.  Every  rough-neck  on  the  job  contributes, 
Boss;  they  wanted  to.  Here's  about  two  hundred  dol 
lars.  We'd  like  to  have  you  buy  something  you  can 
remember  us  by." 

The  spokesman  stopped,  perspiring  and  breathless. 
His  two  companions  came  forward  and  one  of  them 
laid  on  the  table  a  cigar  box  which,  when  opened, 
showed  a  pile  of  bills  and  coins.  Jim's  face  worked. 


358  STILL   JIM 

"Boys,"  said  Jim  huskily,  "boys — I'm  no  speaker! 
What  can  I  say  to  you  except  that  this  kindness  takes 
away  some  of  the  sting  of  going.  I'll  buy  something  I 
can  take  with  me  wherever  I  go." 

"Don't  try  to  say  nothing,  Boss,"  said  the  spokes 
man.  "I  know  what  it  is.  I  laid  awake  all  night  fixing 
up  what  I  just  said." 

"It  was  a  darned  good  speech,"  replied  Jim.  "Don't 
forget  me,  boys.  When  you  finish  the  dam  remember 
it  was  my  pipe  dream  to  have  finished  it  with  you." 

The  three  shook  hands  with  Jim  and  made  for  the 
door.  Jim  stood  staring  at  the  money,  smiling  but 
with  wet  eyes,  when  Bill  Evans'  automobile  exploded 
up  to  the  house.  Uncle  Denny  was  sitting  in  the  ton- 
neau  with  two  other  men.  Jim  walked  slowly  out  to 
the  road.  One  of  the  men  was  the  Secretary  of  the  In 
terior  ;  the  other,  a  slender,  keen-faced  young  man,  was 
his  private  secretary.  Jim's  face  was  white  in  the 
dusk. 

"Well,  young  man,"  said  the  Secretary,  "you  have 
been  having  some  strenuous  times  since  the  Hearing. 
And  for  a  man  reputed  to  be  unpopular,  you  have  some 
good  friends." 

Bill  Evans,  almost  bursting  with  importance,  undid 
the  binding  wire  that  fastened  the  door  of  the  tonneau 
and  the  Secretary  arose. 

"If  you  had  telegraphed  me,  Mr.  Secretary,"  Jim 
began  with  a  reproachful  glance  at  Uncle  Denny. 

"On  me  soul,  Jimmy,"  said  Uncle  Denny,  "I  didn't 
know.  I  went  over  with  Bill  to  meet  someone  else 
and •" 

The  Secretary  laughed  as  he  followed  Jim.  As  Jim 
held  open  the  door  he  said :  "I  didn't  want  to  wire  you, 


THE    THUMB    PRINT         359 

Mr.  Manning.  I  wanted  to  find  you  on  the  ground, 
steeped  in  your  iniquities.  You  have  nice  quarters," 
he  added,  sitting  down  comfortably  before  the  grate 
fire.  Then  his  eye  fell  on  the  cigar  box  full  of  money. 
"Ah,  is  that  a  part  of  the  loot  I  hear  you've  been 
getting?" 

Jim  looked  at  the  Secretary  uncertainly.  He  was  a 
large  man  with  the  keen  blue  eyes  and  the  firm  mouth 
in  a  smooth-shaven  face  that  Jim  remembered  was 
like  a  fine  set  mask.  Jim  got  nothing  from  staring 
into  his  distinguished  guest's  quiet  eyes. 

"This  is  a  gift  from  the  workmen  on  the  dam,"  said 
Jim.  "I  am  to  buy  something  to  remember  them  by. 
There  are  about  two  hundred  dollars  there,  they  tell 
me." 

The  Secretary  nodded.  "I  am  glad  to  hear  that  the 
men  like  you,  Mr.  Manning.  What  have  you — Come 
in,  madam!"  The  Secretary  nodded  to  Mrs.  Flynn, 
who  had  paused  in  the  door  with  a  tray  load  of  dishes. 
She  paused  and  looked  uncertainly  at  Jim. 

"Supper  for  four  tonight,  Mrs.  Flynn,"  said  Jim. 
"We  have  the  Secretary  of  the  Interior  with  us." 

"My  heavens !"  gasped  Mrs.  Flynn.  "God  knows 
I  never  meant  to  intrude." 

The  Secretary  laughed  so  richly  and  so  heartily  that 
all  but  Mrs.  Flynn  joined  him.  She  gave  the  group 
of  men  a  look  of  utter  scorn,  and  said : 

"I  suppose  if  the  Lord  and  the  twelve  disciples  had 
dropped  in  unexpected,  you  men  would  think  it  funny 
and  me  with  me  legs  all  wrapped  up  in  newspapers!" 
Then  she  bolted  for  the  kitchen. 

The  Secretary  wiped  his  eyes.  "I  hope  I  haven't 
seriously  upset  your  household,"  he  said  to  Jim. 


360  STILL    JIM 

Jim  shook  his  head.  "Your  coming  will  be  one  of 
the  great  events  of  her  life.  Supper  will  be  late  but  it 
will  be  well  worth  eating." 

"Then,"  said  the  Secretary,  "let  us  continue  our  pri 
vate  hearing.  What  have  you  been  trying  to  do  here 
on  the  dam,  Mr.  Manning?" 

Jim  stood  on  the  hearth  rug  and  glanced  at  each  of 
the  three  men  seated  before  him,  his  gaze  finally  rest 
ing  on  the  Secretary's  face. 

"At  first,"  he  said,  "I  merely  wanted  to  build  the 
dam.  I  called  it  the  Thumb-print  that  I  would  leave 
on  the  map,  that  should  be  emblematic  of  the  old  trail- 
making  Puritan.  But  by  a  persistent  indifference  to 
their  prejudices  and  to  their  personal  wishes  and  wel 
fare,  I  antagonized  all  the  farmers  on  the  Project." 

Jim  paused,  hesitated  and  then  went  on.  "The 
woman  whom  I  shall  one  day  marry  pointed  out  to  me 
that  my  attitude  here  was  typical  of  the  general  atti 
tude  of  the  so-called  Old  Stock  here  in  America.  She 
said  that  I  was  willing  to  build  the  dam  but  unwilling 
to  sacrifice  time  or  effort  to  administering  it,  to  show 
ing  the  farmer  how  to  handle  the  fine,  essentially  dem 
ocratic,  idea  that  was  in  the  Reclamation  idea.  She 
said  that  we  had  formed  the  government  in  America 
and  left  it  to  others  to  administer  and  that  of  this 
we  were  dying." 

Jim  stopped  and  the  Secretary  said,  "She  seems  in 
telligent,  this  young  woman." 

Jim's  smile  was  flashing  and  tender  as  he  said,  "She 
is !"  Then  he  went  on,  "You  wrote  me  that  the  human 
element  was  the  important  matter  here  on  the  dam. 

This — friend — of •"  Jim  hesitated  for  a  name  for 

Pen. 


THE    THUMB    PRINT         361 

" — of  your  heart,"  suggested  the  Secretary. 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Jim  gravely,  " — of  my  heart 
said  that  I  was  doing  only  half  a  man's  part  and  that 
that  was  what  was  losing  me  my  job.  So  I  have  been 
trying  to  enlarge  my  Thumb-print.  I  want  to  leave  it 
not  only  in  concrete  but  in  the  idea  that  the  Project 
shall  embody  the  rebirth  of  the  old  New  England  ideal 
of  equality  not  in  freedom  alone,  but  in  responsibility. 
I  hoped  I  might  make  every  individual  here  feel  re 
sponsible  for  the  building  of  the  dam,  for  the  payment 
of  the  debt,  and  for  the  development  of  the  Project  for 
the  best  good  of  every  human  being  on  it." 

Jim  stopped,  and  the  Secretary  said,  "Well?" 

Again  Jim's  wistful  smile.  "I  woke  too  late  to  get 
my  idea  across.  My  successor  comes  tomorrow." 

The  Secretary  shook  his  head.  "I  had  no  idea  you 
were  to  leave  so  soon,  though  I  will  admit  that  after  I 
read  of  your  interview  with  Freet  I  rather  lost  inter 
est  in  your  doings.  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  Freet 
was  asked  for  his  resignation  at  the  same  time  you 
were?  Last  week,  however,  just  before  we  started  on 
a  tour  of  the  Projects,  a  young  lady  called  on  me.  She 
was  very  good  looking  and  my  secretary  is  not  ah — 
impervious — to  externals,  so  he  allowed  her  quite  a 
long  interview  with -me." 

The  Secretary's  eyes  twinkled  and  young  Allen 
laughed.  "You  see,  that  the  Secretary  took  note  of 
her  personal  appearance  himself !" 

Jim's  face  was  flushed  and  amazed.  The  Secretary 
went  on:  "This  young  lady  told  me  the  details  of  the 
Freet  visit  and  a  good  many  other  details  that  I'll  not 
take  time  to  mention.  She  was  so  clear  and  cool,  yet 
so  in  earnest  that  I  decided  that  I  would  leave  mv  oartv 


362  STILLJIM 

at  Cabillo  and  come  on  up  for  a  talk  with  you,  incog 
nito,  as  it  were,  before  they  got  here.  To  cap  the 
climax,  at  Chicago  I  had  a  most  remarkable  telegram 
from  a  man  named  Gluck.  I  knew  that  a  German  en 
gineer  was  looking  over  our  Projects." 

The  Secretary  smiled  at  the  helpless  expression  on 
Jim's  face.  "Gluck,  in  about  a  thousand  words,  for 
which  I  hope  his  government  will  pay,  told  me  that  I 
was  an  enfeebled  idiot  or  what  amounted  to  that  to  let 
an  engineering  treasure  like  you  leave  the  dam.  I 
liked  you,  Mr.  Manning,  when  I  saw  you  at  Washing 
ton.  I  thought,  then,  though,  that  you  were  on  the 
wrong  track  and  I  hoped  you  could  be  lured  onto  the 
right  one.  I  admit  that  I  was  much  disappointed  with 
your  answer  to  my  first  letter  and  delighted  with  your 
second.  I  might  have  known  that  a  woman  had  had 
her  hand  in  so  radical  a  change!"  The  Secretary's 
smile  was  very  human  as  he  said  this. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  agree  with  you  in  your  feeling 
of  sadness  about  the  going  of  the  Old  Stock.  I  am 
an  enthusiast  over  the  Melting  Pot  idea  myself.  But 
whatever  the  motive  power  within  you,  I  heartily  en 
dorse  your  ideals  for  the  Projects.  But  I  am  still  not 
convinced  that  you  are  the  man  for  your  job,  in  spite 
of  your  engineering  ability.  Engineering  ability  is  not 
rare.  A  great  many  engineers  could  build  a  dam.  But 
a  man  to  do  the  work  you  have  outlined  must  have 
several  rare  qualities  and  not  the  least  among  these  is 
the  capacity  for  making  many  friends  easily,  of  getting 
his  ideas  to  the  other  man." 

Jim's  jaw  set  a  little,  but  he  answered  frankly,  "I 
know  it,  Mr.  Secretary,  and  that  is  just  what  I  lack." 

This  was  too  much  for  Uncle  Denny.    "Mr.  Secre- 


THE    THUMB    PRINT         363 

tary,  those  that  know  Jim  are  bound  to  him  by  ribs  of 
steel.  They " 

"Uncle  Denny!  Uncle  Denny!"  interrupted  Jim, 
sadly,  "even  your  faithful  love  cannot  make  a  popular 
fnan  of  me !  You  must  not  try  to  influence  the  Secre 
tary  by  your  personal  prejudice !" 

Uncle  Denny,  with  obvious  effort,  closed  his  lips, 
then  opened  them  to  say,  "Still !  Still !  You  break  me 
old  heart !" 

The  Secretary  looked  from  the  handsome  old  Irish 
man  to  the  tall  young  engineer,  whose  face  was  too 
sad  for  his  years  and  something  a  little  misty  softened 
the  Secretary's  keen  blue  eyes. 

"You  agree  with  me,  Mr.  Manning,"  he  said  gently, 
"that  the  capacity  you  seem  to  lack  is  essential  for  so 
heavy  a  task  as  you  have  outlined.  It  is  a  great  pity  to 
lose  you  to  the  Service,  yet  I  cannot  see  how  you  can 
bring  the  Project  to  its  best.  I  am  considering  how 
it  will  be  possible  to  find  men  who  have  your  engineer 
ing  ability,  your  idealism,  and  this  last  rare,  marvel 
ous  capacity  for  popularity." 

Jim  flushed  under  his  tan.  For  the  first  time  he 
spoke  tensely.  "Mr.  Secretary,  it's  crucifying  me  to 
think  I've  fallen  down  on  this." 

"Don't  let  it  break  you,"  said  the  Secretary,  looking 
at  Jim  with  eyes  that  had  looked  long  and  understand- 
ingly  on  human  nature.  "Make  up  your  mind  to  turn 
your  forces  into  other  channels.  I  want  you  to  under 
stand  my  position,  Mr.  Manning.  Personally,  I  would 
do  anything  for  you,  for  I  like  you.  I  hope  always  to 
count  you  as  a  friend.  But  as  Secretary  of  the  In 
terior,  I  must  be  a  man  of  iron,  always  looking  ahead 
to  the  future  of  our  country.  I  dare  not  let  myself 


364  STILL   JIM 

show  partiality  here,  lest  our  children's  children  suffer 
from  my  weakness. " 

Jim  answered  steadily,  "Do  you  suppose  I  would 
hold  my  job  as  a  favor,  Mr.  Secretary  ?" 

"I  know  you  wouldn't,"  replied  the  Secretary. 
"That  is  why  I  took  the  trouble  to  come  to  you  per 
sonally.  I  told  you  that  I  was  proud  to  feel  myself 
your  friend.  And  if  you  have  lost,  you  have  lost  as  a 
man  must  prefer  to  lose,  Mr.  Manning,  in  full  flight, 
with  the  heat  of  battle  thick  upon  you  and  not  dragging 
out  your  days  in  a  slow  paralysis  of  futile  endeavor." 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Secretary,"  said  Jim  huskily. 

"Can  I  put  supper  on  now,  Mr.  Dennis?"  asked 
Mrs.  Flynn,  in  a  stage  whisper. 

"You  may,"  said  the  Secretary  emphatically.  "I 
don't  like  to  seem  impatient,  Mrs.  Flynn,  but  I'm 
famished." 

Mrs.  Flynn  beamed,  though  eyes  and  nose  were  red 
from  weeping.  "I'll  have  it  on  in  three  minutes,  your 
honor.  Just  hold  your  hand  on  your  stomach,  that  al 
ways  helps  me,  your  honor.  Boss,"  in  another  stage 
whisper,  "I  laid  a  clean  shirt  on  your  bed  for  you  and 
you  had  better  ask  his  honor  if  he  don't  want  to  wash 
up." 

The  Secretary  was  charmed.  He  rose  with  alacrity. 
"Mrs.  Flynn,  if  you  ever  leave  Mr.  Manning,  come 
straight  to  me.  You  are  a  woman  after  my  own 
heart." 

Mrs.  Flynn  curtseyed  with  the  sugar  bowl  in  her 
hand.  "I  thank  you,  your  honor,  but  if  God  lets  me 
live  to  spare  my  life,  Til  never  leave  the  Big  Boss. 
He's  my  family!  I'd  rather  rub  my  hand  over  that 
silky  brown  head  of  his  than  over  a  king's.  God  knows 


THE    THUMB    PRINT         365 

when  I'll  see  him  next,  though "  and  Mrs.  Flynn's 

face  worked  and  she  dashed  from  the  room. 

After  the  wonderful  supper  which  Mrs.  Flynn  at 
last  produced,  Jim  exerted  himself,  with  Uncle 
Denny's  help,  to  entertain  the  Secretary.  Young  Mr. 
Allen  went  to  call  on  the  cement  engineer,  who  was  an 
old  friend.  It  was  not  difficult  to  amuse  the  Secre 
tary.  He  was  as  interested  in  details  of  the  life  on 
the  Project  as  a  boy  of  fifteen.  Uncle  Denny  sent 
him  into  peals  of  laughter  with  an  Irish  version  of 
Henderson's  stories,  and  Jim's  story  of  Iron  Skull 
moved  him  deeply. 

It  was  drawing  toward  nine  o'clock  when  once  more 
Bill  Evans'  rattle  of  gasolene  artillery  sounded  before 
the  door.  A  familiar  voice  called, 

"Good-night,  Bill!"  and  Penelope  came  into  the 
room. 

The  men  jumped  to  their  feet  and  Uncle  Denny  hur 
ried  to  take  her  bag.  Jim  did  not  seem  able  to  speak. 
Pen  shook  hands  with  the  Secretary. 

"You  are  here,  Mr.  Secretary,"  she  said.  "I'm  so 
glad!" 

"So  am  I,"  said  the  Secretary,  smiling  appreciatively 
at  Pen.  In  her  traveling  suit  of  brown,  with  her  shin 
ing  hair  and  her  great  eyes  brilliant  while  her  color 
came  and  went,  Pen  was  very  beautiful.  She  turned 
from  the  Secretary  to  Jim  and  shook  hands  with  him, 
with  deepening  flush. 

"Hello,  Still!"  she  said. 

"Hello,  Penelope!"  replied  Jim. 

"Pen!"  cried  Uncle  Denny  breathlessly.  "What's 
the  news?  As  I  promised,  I've  not  been  near  the  tele- 


366  STILLJIM 

phone,  nor  have  I  said  a  word  here,  though  it's  most 
suffocated  me." 

"Fleckenstein  is  defeated,"  said  Pen. 

"Oh,  thank  God  for  that !"  cried  Jim. 

"How  did  it  happen  ?"  asked  the  Secretary. 

Uncle  Denny  began  to  walk  the  floor.  Pen  an 
swered.  "A  week  ago,  Mr.  Secretary,  a  farmer  named 
Marshall  at  a  Fleckenstein  meeting  suggested  that  a 
petition  be  sent  you  to  keep  Mr.  Manning  here." 

Uncle  Denny  interrupted.  "Mrs.  Saradokis  here  al 
ready  had  telegraphed  us  to  do  that  same  thing,  Mr. 
Secretary,  but  we  were  glad  to  have  the  farmers  get 
the  same  idea." 

"That  isn't  important,  Uncle  Denny,"  said  Pen. 
"Marshall  himself  wrote  the  petition.  The  farmers' 
wives  caught  the  idea  as  eagerly  as  their  husbands  and 
you  will  find  in  many  cases  the  signatures  of  whole 
families.  Of  course  no  man  was  going  to  petition 
for  Mr.  Manning,  and  then  vote  for  Fleckenstein. 
So  he  was  defeated.  Here  is  the  petition,  Mr.  Secre 
tary." 

Pen  drew  from  her  suitcase  a  fold  of  legal  cap  pa 
pers  which  she  opened  and  passed  to  the  Secretary. 
Her  voice  vibrated  as  she  said :  "It  is  signed  by  nearly 
every  farmer  on  the  Project,  Mr.  Secretary.  Even 
the  Mexicans  wanted  Jim  to  stay." 

The  Secretary  put  on  his  glasses  and  unfolded  the 
numerous  sheets.  He  looked  them  through  very  de 
liberately,  then  without  a  word,  passed  them  to  Jim. 

The  petition  was  a  short  one :  "We  the  undersigned 
residents  of  the  Cabillo  Project  petition  that  James 
Manning  be  retained  as  engineer  in  charge  of  the  Pro 
ject.  We  ask  this  because  we  like  him  and  trust  him 


THE    THUMB    PRINT         367 

and  believe  he  will  do  more  than  any  other  man  could 
do  for  the  farmers'  good.  Signed " 

There  was  no  sound  in  the  room  save  the  crackling 
of  the  papers  as  Jim's  trembling  fingers  turned  them. 
He  was  white  to  the  lips.  The  Secretary  looked  from 
Jim  to  Pen,  who  was  standing  with  close-clasped 
fingers,  her  deep  eyes  shining  as  she  watched  Jim. 
From  Pen  he  looked  at  Uncle  Denny,  who  was  walk 
ing  round  and  round  the  dining  room  table  as  though 
on  a  wager.  Then  the  Secretary  looked  back  at  Jim. 

"This  petition  pleases  me  greatly,  Mr.  Manning,  and 
it  will  please  the  Director.  He  has  grieved  very  much 
over  the  seeming  necessity  of  letting  you  go.  Of 
course  this  petition  disproves  all  our  statements  about 
your  capacity  for  making  friends  and  for  making  your 
friends  get  your  ideas."  The  Secretary  chuckled. 
"Mrs.  Flynn  can  remove  the  newspapers  from  all  her 
legs  tomorrow !" 

Jim  could  not  speak.  He  looked  from  face  to  face 
and  his  lips  moved,  but  only  his  wistful  smile  came 
forth. 

"Mr.  Dennis/'  said  the  Secretary,  "supposing  you 
and  I  have  a  quiet  smoke  here  while  the  Project  engi 
neer  allows  this  young  lady  to  take  him  out  and  ex 
plain  to  him  how  she  came  here." 

"Mr.  Secretary,  you  must  have  a  drop  of  Irish  blood 
in  you!"  cried  Uncle  Denny. 

He  pushed  Pen  and  Jim  toward  the  door.  And  Jim 
took  Pen's  hand  and  went  out  into  the  night. 

They  walked  silently  under  the  stars  to  the  edge  of 
the  canyon  and  stood  there  looking  across  at  the  black 
outline  of  the  Elephant. 

"I  went  down  to  see  the  Secretary  in  Washington," 


368  STILL   JIM 

said  Pen,  "and  he  was  very  kind,  but  I  couldn't  move 
him  from  his  decision  about  your  dismissal.  Then 
when  I  wired  Oscar  about  the  petition,  I  decided  that 
I  was  going  to  be  in,  at  the  finish  and  present  it  to  the 
Secretary  myself.  We  came  up  from  Cabillo  on  the 
same  train.  I  made  Bill  drop  me  at  the  Hendersons' 
because  I  wanted  to  surprise  you.  Good  old  Bill !  He 
went  down  to  Cabillo  and  brought  the  petition  up  to 


me." 


Jim  held  Pen's  hand  close  in  his  own.  "I  can't  seem 
to  understand  it  all,"  he  said.  "I  don't  deserve  it. 
Think  of  the  farmers  doing  this !  Aren't  they  a  fine 
lot  of  fellows,  though!  Gee,  Penny,  there  is  going  to 
be  some  great  team  work  on  this  Project  from  now  on ! 
The  water  power  trust  won't  be  able  to  get  in  here 
with  a  hydraulic  ram!  What  can  they  do  with  a 
prosperous  and  responsible  group  of  farmers  like 
these!" 

"Jim,"  cried  Penelope,  "there  is  no  limit  to  what  I 
want  you  to  do!  This  is  just  the  beginning.  After 
you  have  finished  here,  you  must  go  to  other  Projects 
and  after  that,  you  must  go  to  Congress  and  it  will  be 
war  to  the  knife  all  the  time.  It's  a  wonderful  future 
you  are  going  to  have,  Still  Jim." 

Jim  laughed  happily.  "And  where  will  you  be  all 
this  time,  Penny?  I  understand  that  you  are  quite, 
quite  through  with  marriage,  and  it  will  be  very  im 
proper  for  you  to  keep  on  taking  such  an  active  interest 
in  a  bachelor's  affairs.  And  yet  this  bachelor  just 
can't  go  on  without  you !" 

Pen  answered  evasively.  "That's  open  to  discus 
sion.  Jimmy,  some  day,  you  will  buy  back  the  old 
house  at  Exham." 


THE    THUMB    PRINT         369 

"It  would  never  be  the  same,  with  dad  gone,"  said 
Jim. 

"Even  if  your  father  were  alive,  Jimmy,  it  couldn't 
be  the  same,"  answered  Pen.  "It's  just  that  the 
thought  of  the  old  house  will  always  renew  your  old 
instincts,  Still.  You  can't  return  Exham's  old  sweet 
days  to  it.  But  Exham  has  done  its  work,  I  believe, 
out  here  on  this  Project." 

Pen's  smile  was  very  sweet  in  the  starlight.  Jim  put 
both  his  hands  on  her  shoulders. 

"Do  you  love  me,  dear?"  he  asked. 

Pen  looked  up  into  his  eyes  long  and  earnestly. 

"I  always  have,  Still  Jim,"  she  said. 

"Do  you  want  to  know  how  I  love  you?  Oh,  sweet 
heart,  I  have  so  little  to  offer  you!"  he  went  on,  brok 
enly,  without  waiting  for  Pen's  answer,  "except  abid 
ing  love  and  passionate  love  and  adoring  love!  And 
you  are  so  very  beautiful,  Penelope.  I've  hungered 
for  you  for  a  long,  long  time,  dear.  Bitter,  bitter 
nights  and  days  up  on  the  Makon  and  hopeless  nights 
and  days  here  on  the  Cabillo."  His  hands  tightened 
on  her  shoulders.  "Did  you  come  back  to  me,  sweet 
heart?" 

"Still,"  whispered  Pen,  "I  missed  you  so!  I  had  to 
come  back." 

Then  Jim  drew  Pen  to  him  and  folded  her  close  in 
his  strong  arms  and  laid  his  lips  to  hers  in  a  long  kiss. 

And  the  flag  fluttered  lightly  behind  them  and  the 
desert  wind  whispered  above  their  heads: 

"O  yahee!     O  yahai! 
Sweet  as  arrow  weed  in  spring!" 


YB  33489 


M532969 


